


leave out all the rest

by ohmyvalar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Force Bond (Star Wars), Guilt, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Shameless reposts bc self-beta, Watch as I change the summary for the 101th time, instead now have a, this was supposed to be a PWP what happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: Dreams, repentance, redemption. Or, how to earn your happy ending.---Chapters 1-3: The Making and Breaking, Obi-Wan POVChapter 4: Exile on Tatooine, Obi-Wan POVChapter 5-7: A Journey Through the Realm of the Force, Anakin POVChapter 8: Epilogue, Luke POV(?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ;;; I watched Rogue One once and suddenly I have been sucked into this Space Opera...

_I LOOK into my glass,_  
_And view my wasting skin,_  
_And say, "Would God it came to pass_  
_My heart had shrunk as thin!"_

_For then, I, undistrest_  
_By hearts grown cold to me,_  
_Could lonely wait my endless rest_  
_With equanimity._

_But Time, to make me grieve,_  
_Part steals, lets part abide;_  
_And shakes this fragile frame at eve_  
_With throbbings of noontide._

_\- Thomas Hardy, I Look Into My Glass_

 

You have dreams. 

-

You have dreams and they are vivid only in the feelings they transmit; they are filled with violent deaths and grief so agonizing that you wake with tears brimming in your eyes. 

When you close your eyes again, willing your mortal body to fall back into much-needed slumber with the immortal Force, the tears run down your face. They taste bitter, like a hundred thousand regrets that you swear never to add to. 

You think briefly of the Force dreams that Anakin had confided to you about when he was younger. 

Still you dismiss them. Terrifyingly realistic as the dreams are, they could equally likely be the product of the taxing war you are all waging. 

Besides, even if you wish to pinpoint and therefore prevent the events of your nightmares from becoming reality, you cannot. There are no events, no living beings in your dreams to identify. The anonymity of it all haunts you, even as you are glad that it is not anyone you love - _Stars, if it had been_ Anakin - whom you have to see die every night. 

_Small mercies_ , you think then, and the memory taunts you years - _decades, an age_ \- later, in an isolated hut far, far away from it all. 

-

When it happens it's in a quiet moment on the bridge. 

The two of you are standing silently, paces apart but close together in all the ways that matter. You are brothers, friends, though perhaps not quite equals yet - the dulled bond of Master and Padawan yet thrums with fading life between you, its dying strength feeding the fresh, tentative bond of something entirely new growing between you. 

You are watching your ship speed through hyperspace, the endless white comets of celestial light ushering you back to the closest thing you have to home, the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. 

Though perhaps that is not true, you muse. You turn your head, and Anakin is there to meet your thoughtful gaze with a grin. Despite yourself, you feel a wry answering smile tug at your lips. 

No two Jedi ever completely share thoughts; not even between trusted fellows of the Council, and certainly not between a Master and a Padawan, a teacher and a learner. The Jedi are, after all, not a hive minded community, and the Force not your pliant plaything or weapon alone. 

But sometimes - like in this quiet, private moment - you feel your thoughts flow into your former Padawan's, and his into yours. Interconnected and joined, through the power of the Force. Until you almost imagine that it would be impossible for any other Force user to distinguish your two lifeforms as separate in the great web of the Force. 

When you think of it this way, it seems inevitable to you that what happens eventually does. 

Under the dimming lights of the ship's bridge, your former Padawan closes the distance between you. That familiar, stubborn determination glints in his eye, an unrelenting promise. 

In the silence of space, Anakin Skywalker leans in and kisses you. 

It feels so right that you don't flinch or even react until Anakin's mechanical arm is around your waist. Then you startle, a protest on your tongue, swiftly shushed and swallowed as your former Padawan grabs the side of your shoulder with his organic hand, turning you and steering you towards the empty space where no consoles occupy the table. 

You let him, feeling half dizzy and half disbelieving all at once. Why would he - Why would Anakin suddenly- You can't possibly - _you've wanted this for so long -_

He puts his mouth on you again and the half-formed hopes and doubts fly straight out of your mind so quickly, you half suspect him of having dispelled them with the Force. You did not think that Anakin had grown strong enough to displace thoughts from inside your own head without you noticing his influence, but neither had you sensed this urge and passion. 

Anakin pushes up to you, until he's maneuvered you onto the empty console table. Your former Padawan stands between your legs - _and oh, when had you spread them, when had you allowed him to get so close?_ \- and you have a split second to marvel at the angle - _stars, when had he gotten so_ tall? - before he pulls you down by the nape into a fierce kiss. 

His mouth is searing hot, and the warm touch burns into you like a heady shot of Corellian brandy, the sensation spreading along your frame until every touch from Anakin's heated wandering hands has reduced you to a shivering, feverish mess in his embrace. 

_Anakin, no_ , you open your mouth to command, but what comes out is a plea: 'Anakin, please.' 

Your former apprentice grants you the request that even you do not truly comprehend. Anakin's hands busy themselves in the folds of your robes - _you regret, belatedly, the shedding of both your cloaks in your rooms, maybe if there had been more layers between you you might have had the strength to resist him_ \- as your own, uncontrollable, caress your partner's clothed frame: broad shoulders and chest cinching down to a belted waist. 

Oh, how he has grown since he first entered your care. 

Your hands shake. _No. This is wrong._ There might be no explicit rule against fraternization of this sort between Master and Padawan, former or no, but it might as well be an unsaid clause to the tenet against attachment for Jedi. 

You _raised_ him. You have shared your bread, bed and counsel with your former Padawan, though in the most innocent of ways. 

You have taught and been the closest thing to a father or mother to Anakin Skywalker, ever since the day he was given into your care. 

To do this, to yield and give in to the force of nature that is Anakin Skywalker, is to go against the Code and morals that you have lived with all your life. 

And perhaps, more dangerously, it is to give in to your bottled, ever-simmering desires. There is a seal on that bottle, made from regrets and grief and guilt of a thousand moments passed beyond redemption, and you fear - you fear that to give in, even just this once, is to begin the destruction of it, already weakened from years of self-flagellation and guilt. 

'Obi-Wan,' Anakin says, and you blink away from your haunting thoughts to look into your former Padawan's burning eyes - _I love you I love you I love you_ \- and wonder in quiet despair if your own have become equally transparent. 

Anakin's eyes blaze like warm coals, fixated on somewhere below your eyes, somewhere you are unaccustomed to his gaze being cast on - _oh_. You hope against hope that the flush of heat is not color flooding your cheeks. 

Your former, though no less beloved, Padawan reaches out to brush his fingers across your lips. His hand shakes too, but with anticipation, not fear. 

Reverence. Possessiveness. Passion. The emotions fill and surge through the Force bond between them, thrumming with life. _Oh._ As Anakin has always been in all things concerning his Master. 

Why should he behave any differently in this? 

You are sure that you _do_ flush when a smug smirk blooms across Anakin's face, drawing your attention to your former apprentice's swollen red lips. You know that your own must not look any more decent, not after Anakin's eager ravishment. 

_(And where, and when, did your young partner learn to do that? Your stomach twists with a mixture of familiar protectiveness and, less familiar, jealousy.)_

' _Obi-Wan_ ,' Anakin says again, surging up into you. You feel the unmistakable jut of his arousal against your thigh. ' _Obi-Wan_ ,' he murmurs into the curve of your neck as he marks his ownership. You shiver, both away and into his touch. ' _Obi-Wan_ ,' he insists, pulling your robes apart. 

Your hands shake. You can't stop him. You're defenseless against this inflamed onslaught of passion by your former Padawan, the boy whom you have dedicated the past decade of your life to - and the man he has grown into. You realize, with a heady rush, that you don't _want_ to stop him. 

Anakin buries his head into your exposed lap, tugging your leggings down. You reach down to push him away with the last of your restraint, but when he engulfs your hardening length in his hot mouth, you find your fingers tangling in his copper curls instead. 

And - and it feels _good_. 

Your partner is better at this than you might have - had - imagined, though how much of his expertise stems from experience and how much from his talent for all things physical, you do not know. 

All you know is that you are panting, wide-mouthed, head thrust back to stare at the pale white ceiling of the bridge, because when you made the mistake of looking down at that head of brown locks bobbing around your cock, you nearly came then and there. 

The wet heat of Anakin's mouth envelops more and more of your length, diving down and down with each bob as his curls bounce. When he swallows around you, a choked gasp escapes your mouth. 

' _Anakin_ ,' you manage to say. Your voice is hoarse, in a way that you know your former Padawan has never heard from you. You would feel embarrassed at this last loss of dignity, but you had abandoned any residual dignity along with your discarded robes and vows. 

Anakin pulls off, the most wicked expression on his flushed face. When he asks, 'yes, Master?', your eyes trail down to his glistening lips, and hot fire curls in your stomach. 

Any reprimand you were about to voice dies on your tongue. You instinctively know that if you chide him now, that intense heat into his eyes will change from passion to anger. And you do not want an argument, like so many you have engaged in his Padawan years. Not right now. 

You are a crossroads, a fork in both your paths that will carry much more significance then you can know now. Years, decades, later you will turn this moment over and over in your mind. Knowing that this is when it all could have changed. 

But then, in your foolish, blissful ignorance, you only think: _I will always love him, in any way, in any form. I would die for him; I would trade my life for a second more of his._

(You would, and you do.) 

(Decades later, you will have died at his hands, not once but twice, and you will know better: that you would die a hundred more times to bring Anakin Skywalker _home_.) 

So you only look at him, this child that has become a man. _This is only one more way to love him_ , you lie to yourself. 

You give in.

You allow yourself to smile a smile of pride, your shaky fingers grounded in their contact against Anakin's cheek. 

'Anakin,' you whisper, voice soft with fondness, letting years of hidden emotions flood through the dam of your mental shields, into the Force bond between you. 

You watch your former Padawan's eyes widen in surprise at the intensity of your revelations. After Qui-Gon - after the grief your old Master's death has brought you, the lesson of detachment, of independence, has been one of the most vital lessons you intended to impart to your own Padawan. 

Maybe then, when you too leave your mortal frame inevitably, Anakin will not grief as much and as long as you did (as you still do). 

(That his grief and remembrance of you might be much shorter then does not bother you. In the end, all sentient beings are one with the Force. One day, Anakin too will understand, though you know that his mother's fate has left a fear of death too deep-seated to be removed as of now.) 

And so you have, for more than a decade now, learned to conceal your deepest emotions from your Padawan. 

As far as Anakin could sense, you are the embodiment of the Jedi ideal of detachment, dedication and efficiency; with just enough passion to see a mission through, but not enough to pamper him as he knows some other, more lenient Jedi Masters do with their Padawans. 

But now, as you finally open the seal on all the pent-up emotions and associated memories that you have felt in the past decade, you relive them in your former Padawan's wide, expressive eyes. 

_Fear of failure for taking responsibility for the boy who had been thrust into your care after Qui-Gon's sudden death. Growing adoration as you raise and train him, reliving your memories of your own lessons with your Master. Pride when Anakin bested you for the first time in training, and then sadness, that soon one day, your Padawan will leave your teacher-student bond behind, as you would have with Qui-Gon - though death had stolen him too early for that. Surprise and a strange bitterness as you watch Anakin and Senator Amidala grow close. Overwhelming pride and emotion - you remember that you had let your smile reach your eyes - on the day Anakin had been knighted._

_And then the feelings that you have always sought to hide, that you realized soon after: the flutter of your heart at a particularly bright smile, the irrational desire to run your fingers through his curly locks, the lurching, destabilizing fear when you hear that he has been injured -_

' _Obi-Wan_ ,' Anakin utters again. This time, his tone is that of wonder, brimming full of emotion. You sigh inwardly, more fond than disappointed. For all of your well-meaning training, your former Padawan has never managed to suppress his emotions well. 

Gazing upon Anakin Skywalker, reflecting on the situation you are in, you cannot find it in yourself to fault him for it. 

(After all, how else would you have had the chance to express your feelings? Your decade-long self-imposed emotional ban has not been kind, even to you. Sometimes, you doubt that you have the necessary faculties for feeling, now. Your position as an ex-Master would never have allowed you to confess without destroying the morals you have always upheld.)

You look down into Anakin's blue eyes, their intensity softened by the love you know is clearly reflected in your own. 

It is a different kind of love than the one you glimpsed previously - where there was possessive, irrational love that bordered on obsession, there is now the fond, adoring, confident love that you know stems only from the confirmation that his love is more than reciprocated. 

You close your eyes, and reach out with your mind. 

The Force is an orchestra between you; it trills your joy in high soprano and thrums warmly with the unison of your heartbeats. You feel Anakin's disbelieving joy and the depth of his desire, as surely as if it is your own (and maybe it is.)

When Anakin bends to resume his efforts, you feel the bond between you swell with love and eagerness. 

This time, you do not begrudge him the pleasures of your body, knowing that no physical union can make you more connected and open to him than your newly established Force bond already has. 

As Anakin pushes into you, you feel the world around you unravel and realign. The threads of Fate woven by the Force twist and twine, a hundred different possibilities made and unmade with a single thought. 

'Oh, oh,' you mutter, wordlessly, your eyes sliding shut as unimaginable pleasure flows through your veins. 

_Is this how it feels like to be the Chosen One?_

But Anakin too is gasping, eyes widening at more than the revelations of pleasures of the flesh. All that untapped potential, all that power - is yours, combined. Time and again, you have fought side by side, but never has the culmination of your joined Forces been so clear to you.

Your thoughts fill with empathy and pride, pouring richly unfiltered through your open Force bond. Together, you are invincible. You can think of a hundred ways to use your joint power, a hundred ways with Anakin by your side. 

_To end the wars. To protect the Republic. To -_

Anakin kisses the wild, fantastical thoughts out of your mind. 

This time you let yourself sigh into his mouth. He tastes like your wildest dreams and brightest nightmares. 

When you pull apart, it is only to allow Anakin to lean in to drive into you with a new fervor, spurred on by your enthusiasm. You can hear soft gasps and whimpers escaping from your parted mouth as you whisper a single word over and over again - _Anakin, Anakin, Anakin_. 

He bottoms out with a groan, burying himself deep into you. Your fingers curl in his brown hair, tighter than you intended. But Anakin only seems to take it as a sign of the possessiveness he is so desperate to show and be shown. 

'You're mine, Obi-Wan,' he growls into your ear, pushing your legs further up and apart with more force than necessary. He sets a punishing pace, hard and fast, covering your frame with his own until all your senses can drink in is Anakin Skywalker, inside and over and around you. 

Your robes have fallen in a heap around your waist, but Anakin is still mostly dressed.  
The silence of space and the bridge are cold, but Anakin is warm; a furnace inside you and against your skin, which burns everywhere he touches. 

Your hands scale the expanse of his chest, still trembling from the liberty you are being granted. Only a few minutes before, you would not have believed it possible, this... thing that is growing between you in the Force and between your physical bodies. 

Abruptly, as if afraid that you will meet resistance, you pull Anakin even closer, until the bare centimeters of air between you crackle with compressed Force emitting from both of you. 

You pull him so close that Anakin is forced to slow his motions, but this new intimacy that you are discovering is worth even the impatient grumble that your partner voices. 

'Anakin,' you murmur again, like his name is the only word your lips will consent to form. And yet what other word can truly express your love for your former Padawan, grown so beautiful and strong? 

For a moment you simply hold him to you. This closeness, this intimacy that you have never allowed yourself to experience as a Jedi, lulls you into forgetting all else. The war, the Council, the Jedi... These things, so important to your life and purpose, fade into insignificance at the sight and feel of Anakin against you. 

The slant of his head as he rests above you. The curve of his lips. The brown locks that curl and those that lie flat. The shadows he casts upon you, with everything of his that draws you in. 

Anakin's chin rests on your chest as he looks up at you, blue eyes full of adoration, just like they had been all those years ago, before pride and the lesson of independence you were so determined to teach him diminished the warmth in them, and he grew to shower others with that warmth instead (others like the lovely Senator Amidala, who after all deserves and cherishes it more than you appeared to.)

(And a long, long time later, you remember these signs and think: _if only I had done something_.) 

( _If only..._ )

(But the Force does not give you second chances, and when you wake from your dreams it is to dried tears and an aching heart.)

But then, you do not know of these things. Then, you only observe the dark, possessive edge clouding his blue gaze, and frown, filled with the urge to smoothen out the dark thoughts emanating from your former Padawan. 

So you focus your will on channeling all the love you have gathered and never dared to show through your Force bond. Each memory is a caressing hand soothing the hurts and wounds you find; the cracking seams of his Chosen One persona, the hero that the galaxy hails and awes over at ceremonies. 

(He tried so hard, to be the Chosen One that the Jedi - you - approved of, that the galaxy loved and fawned over. But then you do not understand it fully yet. )

But there is a different Anakin Skywalker under all the layers that years of training in Jedi propriety and the unrelenting mantle of the Chosen One have painted like coats of dried paint. 

It is _this_ Anakin Skywalker, the real Anakin that in some ways never changed from the inquisitive bright-eyed nine year old on Tatooine, that you have the privilege of knowing and loving. 

It is _this_ Anakin Skywalker that eagerly claims every inch of you that you relinquish to him, just as he once eagerly claimed all the knowledge you could give. 

He pummels into you as he nears his release with less consideration than fervor, the mantra of want want want a ravenous, frenzied cycle in your open Force bond. You give him all his wants, all his needs willingly; submission, pride, trust, love. 

You hold on to him and let yourself sob and cry out with abandon in tandem to his thrusts, letting go of the restraints that have governed you so well for the past decade. 

When he comes, he's buried to the hilt inside of you. Anakin's words in your ear are soft and breathless. 'I love you.' 

You shudder against the sensation and let out a slow, stuttering breath. For all your famed diplomacy and skillful negotiations, expressing the things closest to your heart has never been easy to you. 

So you close your eyes. You let down your mental shields, more than you have for anyone, than you ever will for anyone else. It goes against all you have learnt in your life as a Jedi; to leave yourself so vulnerable to another Force user speaks of an attachment far beyond what the Order permits. 

But this is _Anakin_. Qui-Gon's death and your last promise to him created an unbreakable bond between you, even before you officially opened the Master-Padawan bond between you. 

( _You will be a Jedi, I promise_ , you said. You never once considered if he wished otherwise.) 

And ever since, you have only been giving more and more of yourself to him, even without his knowledge. 

You think you understand then, why Qui-Gon smiled the way he did - a little sadly, a little proudly - when you mustered up your courage all those years ago and told him that he was and would always be the most important person in your life. 

The strength of the Bond between Master and Padawan - shared quarters, shared company and of course shared Force Bond - combined with the attachment that the Jedi Code forbade with any other often construed their Master as the sole sentient being that a Padawan formed a meaningful relationship with. 

A Master can - and usually does - have many Padawans in their lifetime, but a Padawan will only ever have one Master.

You grew up, of course. There was Satine, whom you loved but ultimately forsook for the Jedi. And you were only one of Qui-Gon's Padawans (his last.) In time, love grew distant to you, as it must to all true Jedi.

But _Anakin_. Anakin is different. It is a truth that is as ingrained in you as the very tenets of the Jedi Code. Looking into your own heart, you know that no one will ever be more important to you than _him_. 

He is nearing the age you were when you lost Qui-Gon, now, and you see it in his eyes sometimes: the longing for connection, though you had not thought he sought it in _you_. 

(You wonder if he fears losing you, too. Like you fear losing him, though it is only what you have taught him to do all your time together.)

You know more than you let on about his adoration for Senator Amidala, and from your personal interactions with her you fear that she shares his feelings. 

_But can it be- What else could this be?_

You let the open Force bond between you channel all the emotions no words in any language you know will suffice to express. 

( _I loved you_ , you say, later, the taste of the words like the hot ash that floats in the air around you. _Lies!_ The Anakin in your dreams scream in reply. _You left me to die, because you were too cowardly to finish it yourself!_ )

(He never knew that your lack of words stemmed not from him meaning too little to you, his fear of which you only realized far too late, but from him meaning too _much_.)

But then, you do not know of these things, of these regrets to come. 

(Then, you always praise him to his face too little, and to the Council too much. Then, you smile wistfully only when his back is turned, not when he is looking at you, waiting for an opening to confess. Then, you foolishly assume you know better than him, and...)

Then, you only stroke his brown hair, and listen to his loving, possessive words, feeling the union of your bodies and hearts through the blissful thrumming of the Force between you.

-

You have dreams. 

In your dreams you try to save him, but you always fail, just as you failed everyone you loved (you failed him.)

In your dreams you drag him, defeated, onto the shuttle and away (not back to the Jedi Temple, even in your dreams you cannot doom Anakin to death at others' judgement). 

In your dreams you drop to your knees and beg him to come with you. _Where?_ Anakin asks sometimes, his voice cruel, and you reply without thought: _anywhere, anywhere from here, anywhere you want_. (The dreams always end here, the hope of salvation just out of the reaches of your imagination.) 

In your dreams you cut him down and pierce him through the heart with your lightsaber, and hold his still warm body to you and cry and cry and cry. Sometimes you carry his lifeless frame back with you into the shuttle. Sometimes you sit there with him clutched tight to you and wait until the flames consume you both together, until you are nothing but forgotten ashes, forever. (When you wake your heart always hurts more than the false memory of burns.) 

Sometimes you wonder selfishly if it would have been better if you never knew Anakin Skywalker. Surely, then, you will not loathe Darth Vader any more or less than the rest of the galaxy, nor feel conflicted the way you do when someone curses his name in your presence. 

Then you think of _him_ again, and pray that age never dulls the memory of him in your mind.

Because in your mind's eye, still, you see him as he was; nine years old and shaking your hand at your first meeting, twelve and taking you by surprise during training, twenty and knighted with pride, twenty-three and... 

You close your eyes and consign yourself to your dreams. After all, nothing in them can be more agonizing than your waking life without Anakin. 

At least in your dreams you can cling to memories of him, though they are rarely kind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part is already done, but I'll be splitting this chapter into 2 parts to try to maintain some semblance of a regular posting schedule :')

_Walking through the fields of gold_  
_In the distance, bombs can fall_  
_Boy we're running free_  
_Facing light in the flow_  
_And in the cherry trees_  
_We're hiding from the world_  
_But the golden age is over_  
_But the golden age is over_

 _Boy, we're dancing through the snow_  
_Waters freeze, the wind blows_  
_Did you ever feel_  
_We're falling as we grow_  
_No I would not believe_  
_The light could ever go_  
_But the golden age is over_  
_But the golden age is over_

_\- The Golden Age, Woodkid_

 

You have dreams.

You have dreams full of forbidden wants and guilty desires. You have had such dreams before, but that was a long time ago (before Anakin.) Then, they were filled with warm images of faceless women, and then hesitant fantasies of golden tressed Satine. 

And now... _Now_ you dream of Anakin, of his burning touch igniting feverish flames as his long fingers, grown so skillful around a lightsaber, trace and press into every inch of your bare skin. 

You dream of feeling his hot skin against yours, searing you with a welcome heat absent from your once-cold world. You dream of peppered kisses planted along your collarbone that explode like supernovas beneath your skin under the curve of his mouth. 

In the warm, formless, spaceless embrace of your dreams, you see Anakin taking shape above you. 

Brown hair falls into curls that threaten to turn unruly the moment you run your hand through them. And because this is _your_ dream, you do not hesitate in raising your hand to do exactly that. 

Anakin laughs, a sound of summer; not unalike the rustle of leaves under the copper sunset of Coruscant that you have admired many a time, nor the dizzying rush from foolhardy podracing that your former Padawan prefers. 

He turns into the hand that now cups his cheek, pressing a grounding kiss into your palm. Blue eyes that glow like clear crystals fixate on you, unblinking. He drinks you in like nothing else matters. 

And perhaps nothing else does in this dream world. 

Minutes, hours, eons pass in the harmonized rhythm of your heartbeats and your joined gaze. 

Here, time, too, does not matter. There is no war to fight in, no cause so dear to your very being to protect. 

There is only Anakin, and you. 

Anakin trails a teasing finger down your bare torso, hiding a smile that's part mischief and part bashfulness. It reminds you strangely of the way your former Padawan used to smile, when he successfully talked his way out of being punished by his Master for his mischief. 

You frown, then, at the thought, but it flies out of your mind as soon as Anakin surges down to bite and kiss a wet line down from your belly. In your dreams, guilt does not plague you like it would in reality (like it will when you wake up, inevitably.)

You stroke his head, committing the sensation of his flowing locks against your skin to memory once again. 

(You do not need to rely on imagination to conjure the memory, now. These days, reality and dreams blur together at the seams, until sometimes you have trouble differentiating them in your most vulnerable moments.) 

Anakin is so _warm_. Even in your dreams, where nothing is ever quite cold, he burns like a furnace. His hands on your thighs brand and ground you. Slowly, achingly deliberate, he moves them higher up towards the juncture where your thighs meet. Teasingly, you realize. 

So you give him what he wants (as the Obi-Wan in your dreams always does.) 'Please,' you breathe. Your voice sounds ragged to your own ears. Wrecked - and Anakin hasn't even done much of anything yet. 

' _Shh_. Patience, Master.' He smirks, but here in this stolen moment, the all-too-familiar expression only inspires fondness, not your usual exasperation. 

Slowly, Anakin continues his descent down the plane of your tense stomach, until his tongue finds your cock, already at half-mast thanks to his enthusiastic efforts. 

He licks a first teasing stripe along your length, then a solid lick from bottom to top that makes you moan. Your feet scramble for hold against the sheets - the standard Jedi Temple sheets that you have known all your life, which provide comfort but not much in the way of luxury - as you fight against the instinct to hook your knees around your partner's neck to draw him ever closer. 

Anakin catches your flailing legs and pushes them up until they rest over his shoulders at the knees. 'I said _patience_ , Master.' He chastises against your cock, smirking as you twitch under his warm breath. 

You relax at his command, chest heaving with quickened breath, but Anakin only continues his teasing licking without giving you the pleasure of his hot, wet mouth that you ache to be sheathed in. 

Instead, his questing fingers delve downwards. Your eyes fall closed as Anakin begins preparing you, with an ease and swiftness that would not be possible outside of a dream (which you know because you have tried.)

As slick fingers push into you, the little pain you feel is swiftly replaced by overwhelming pleasure. You reach out with your mind, but in your dream the Force is just out of reach. 

But Anakin seems to read your thoughts, all the same. His fingers entangle with yours as he reaches for you with his free hand, and you clutch each other tightly. 

Again, you marvel at how your former Padawan has grown. Once, his small hands used to be dwarfed by your own as you led him by hand through the Jedi Temple and Coruscant. 

Now, his long fingers curl over yours and clutch to you with binding force, like he is afraid that you will leave him if he doesn't.

Soon, the thick slide of his cock has replaced his slender fingers inside you. As he rocks into you with rare moderation - he is usually so determined to go hard and fast, his boundless passion eager for release - you spread yourself wider to accommodate him. 

'Obi-Wan,' Anakin moans, his roaming hands reverential in a way you are more used to showing than receiving. 

Anakin has always been the more passionate, the more possessive of the two of you. Even after that first encounter on the bridge of your ship, he has always taken the initiative (though you suspect that this is partially due to his correct reading of your reluctance to do so because of your position as his Master not all that long ago.)

Perhaps because this is a dream, where time and space have no hold over you, even Anakin does not feel the urge to rush this. 

Encouraged by this thought, and reprieved of any guilt you might feel in the waking world, you lift your hand to pull him down into a tender kiss. 

Anakin hums and parts his lips without preamble, evidently pleased by your initiation, but doesn't press into it like he usually would, letting you take the lead. 

You kiss slowly and softly, in tandem to the leisurely rhythm that Anakin sets. 

When you draw apart for breath, he presses a grounding kiss into the side of your jaw. The sensation of his lips brushing against your beard elicits a soft laugh from you, making Anakin smile in turn as his mouth moves lower to brush soft kisses down the column of your throat. 

When the familiar tension builds in your belly, you reach down to take your arousal in hand - and startle when Anakin wraps his fingers around yours with surprising gentleness. 

You tilt your head up to draw your mouths together again. 

As the rhythm you set as one tides you towards a joined climax, Anakin leans down to press your foreheads together. Without the Force, you feel the loving thoughts he transmits all the same. 

When you come, your vision blurs for a moment, and you feel the tendrils of sleep withdrawing from and releasing you. Anakin follows soon after, and in the dissociating, fuzzy state of your post-orgasm high, you take hold of his hand one last time before the dream slips away from you. 

You blink your eyes open in the darkness. For a second, doubt and irrational fear flood your senses, as you struggle to remember reality, your perception still distorted from your pleasant dream. 

Then you hear Anakin's steady breathing beside you, and feel the solid warmth of his hand, still clutched in yours. 

And it all comes back to you. Sometimes, like tonight, when both of your bodies are battered and exhausted from your daytime missions, you only have the strength to fall into bed together and not much more. 

Your dreams are a different story. In your dreams, there is no guilt, no Jedi Code, no war. In your dreams, you savor and fully utilize your time together.

And you know that all is well. 

You fall back into dreamless slumber with a smile on your face. 

-

The Council spares you a trial meeting. 

(Though you do not know if it is more out of respect for you as a Council member or to preserve Anakin's reputation as the Chosen One. Even within the strict, ascetic community of the Jedi Temple, news leaks at the most inopportune of times. Coruscant might be the center of the galaxy's Core, but sometimes you question the decision to build the ascetic Jedi Temple here amid all of its hedonistic corruption and splendor.)

Instead, Master Windu seeks you out in a secluded corner of the Temple, a day after Anakin leaves for a short reconnaissance mission offworld. 

There is less reprimanding than you expect. Only the sinking feeling in your heart makes you feel properly chastised at all. 

In truth, you are not surprised that the Council has discovered what they see as your affair. 

The Force bond between you and Anakin has deepened significantly since you revealed your true feelings towards him, and even more so after the consummation of your feelings. That this sudden strengthening has gone unnoticed in a Temple full of Force users is improbable. 

And... Sometimes when Anakin _looks_ at you, the heat in his blue eyes is enough to make an answering warmth simmer under your skin. Blinded by your own involvement, you cannot say if your own response is any more subtle. 

The two of you stand by an open corridor, looking out on the world beyond. The view from the Temple Spire, the tallest of the five that tower above the architecture of the Jedi Temple, offers a sweeping view of Coruscant spiraling below. 

You know why Mace Windu met you here. Here, you are unavoidably reminded of your responsibilities to the planet, to the galaxy as a Jedi - and the rules of the Code that all Jedi must needs abide to.

'This cannot stand,' Windu reiterates, after he has relayed the Council's message. His tone is not unkind. The expression on his face is solemn, but there is regret in his brown eyes. 

You would be greatly surprised if your fellow Council member has had a similar experience that would warrant his sympathy, but for all of Windu's traditionalist, iron-handed enforcement of his duties, you respect him as a fellow Council member all the same. 

And you know that the sentiment is mutual, though he has always disapproved of Anakin, and in extension, your handling of matters regarding your former Padawan. 

Still, you wonder if Windu thinks that Anakin has somehow manipulated or coerced you into your fraternization. You have much to make right, you think tiredly, as you look away from your fellow Council member to stare down at the glory of Coruscant. 

Just as Windu undoubtedly intended, you have come to the inevitable realization that you cannot go against the Council. Not on this. 

Fraternization is expressly forbidden by the Jedi Code, under the general rule against attachment. Even without the Code, and the gross misconduct a relationship between an ex-Padawan and his ex-Master might be viewed as, Anakin is the Chosen One. 

(He was the star of the Jedi Order, its prided prophecy of dominion over the Sith and the Dark Side, its prided instrument in both diplomatic circles and on military battlefields. )

(But he was always your sun and all your stars, your mission and your purpose. He grew to define your very being, and in truth you cannot imagine anything better or more painful to be your legacy: now, when they speak of Obi-Wan Kenobi, they name you as the Jedi who trained Anakin Skywalker.)

(And he shone so brightly and fiercely that, when his supernova exploded, the entire galaxy felt the reverberations of its consequences.)

The Jedi Council, for as long as you have been privy to its discussions as a Council member, has been of the opinion that the Chosen One's reputation is to be protected and kept as clean as possible. 

With Anakin's frequent offworld missions and his empathetic personality, this has been no easy task. Keeping Anakin's reputation intact is a mission that you have been appointed to undertake for near a decade now, with your fame as the Negotiator, and which you accept gladly for it means that you are rarely separated for missions. 

Even if the Council is willing to overlook your strengthened bond - unlikely as it is - for them to risk Anakin's reputation with exposure of an illicit affair is impossible. 

And now you understand the sympathy in Windu's eyes.

'I understand, Master Windu.' You finally reply, bowing your head in penance. 

Without lifting your eyes, you can feel your companion relax through a smoothening in the folds of the Force. 

When you look up again, Windu appears visibly relieved. 'Good. Master Kenobi, know that you are a valued member of the Council. We will not pursue this matter any further than necessary.' He paused. 'I... trust that you will be handle this well with regards to Skywalker.' You note that he's not quite looking you in the eye.

He's _embarrassed_ , you realize with what feels like a cold shower. Windu, and likely the rest of the Council with him, is _embarrassed_ by the discovery of your entanglement with Anakin. 

As if your deepened relationship with Anakin is some sort of silly rebellion against the Code, a product of Anakin's usual petulance and your lamentable lapse in judgement. 

For the first time in a long time (since Qui-Gon's death), you feel anger surge up in you towards the Jedi. 

Anakin is - Anakin is your _sun_ , the centre of your world, even more than he is the centre of the galaxy as the Chosen One. You have orbited around him, your every action and decision affected by him, ever since the moment he was thrust into your care.

Even if you end this now, he will not become any less important to you than he is when sharing your bed and thoughts.

You realize this with exulting catharsis, even as indescribable sorrow descends upon you as you come to your next decision by the thought of him. 

Yes, this will be better for Anakin. He is still young, after all, and there are many kinds of love in this world. He will grieve, but he will grow, and in time he will learn that the passion he holds for you is better translated into companionate love. 

And you will both be better for it. 

(In your heart you know you lie, though it hurt less then to deceive than to admit the truth. Now, all you have is the truth, too much of it, that all the rest of the galaxy has forgotten.)

'I will, Master Windu.' You say evenly. When you look at him again, the storm in your eyes has calmed.

You know what you have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *offers up badly written smut as apology for the short chapter*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd finally, the second half of what will eventually be edited as Chapter 2!

When it happens, it's in the mess hall in the main building of the Jedi Temple. 

The news that Anakin Skywalker is back from his offworld mission travels through the Temple swiftly. Your former Padawan is a favorite amongst some of the younglings and even Padawans, who always gobble up any news of their object of idolization with eager eyes and nodding heads (which you know, from the few times when you have been the source of information.)

A Coruscant day before, Anakin sent a transmission to your personal Holopad, detailing the basics of how his mission has went (successfully, you gleaned), ending off with how much he has missed you and was looking forward to your company again. 

The words were generic enough not to arouse suspicion should the transmission fall into the wrong hands, but you see the hunger and longing in his blue eyes. 

You allowed yourself a smile before closing the transmission without replying. After all, you too have missed him. But you cannot trust that you would not somehow betray what you intend to do when he returns in a reply.

Instead, you send a missive informing Anakin to meet you in the mess hall after he arrives. 

Half an hour passes before Anakin sweeps into the mess, his robe swishing behind him, caught in the wind of his stride. It is a half an hour that you spend deep in thought, alone with the heavy burden of what you must do.

When he slides into the seat across you and glances up at you, the genuine contentment in his eyes and the familiar smile on his face nearly makes your resolve crumble. 

But no. You have to do this, you remind yourself. This cannot continue, especially not with the Council's knowledge. 

'Master?' Anakin asks, his smile falling away as his expression changes into one of concern. 'You seem tired. Have you been resting enough-' 

No. This is too much for you; his happy smiles, his genuine concern, even though he is the one freshly returned from an offworld mission, all for you. He has grown; he is a far cry from the petulant Padawan prone to rebellious outbursts and complaints. 

And you are about to destroy this attachment between you that you have allowed the creation of. 

'Anakin. This needs to end.' You cut in. You cannot bear to hear any more, and be tempted any more by what you are giving up. What you are cutting away. 

Anakin breaks off, confusion written across his startled face. Then, disbelief flashes in his eyes as he realizes what you mean. He searches your face for any sign of what might have brought this on against your will, but you have schooled yourself into serenity. It is not impossible, not with decades of Jedi training, though it brings you great pain. 

You watch as confusion and grievance turn into disbelief and anger, the emotions raw and painful, chasing each other across your former Padawan's face. 

A sharp pain digs into your mind as you feel Anakin reach out for your Force bond, but finding only the jagged edges of forcibly torn ties. You close your eyes. You have tried to be as gentle as possible in severing the bond between you, but whatever pain you feel, Anakin must feel hundredfold. 

You know this, because this is a trick that you have learned in the painful months after Qui-Gon's death forcibly severed your Master-Padawan bond. 

When Qui-Gon's steady, grounding presence had been erased from your mind, you felt a searing pain that remained whenever you tapped into the Force henceforth. Only through Master Yoda's guidance had you learned to sever the bond on your end, ending the pain but also removing your remaining attachment to your lost Master. 

'How could you?!'

You open your eyes at the exclamation from your former Padawan, who is staring at you with agonized passion in his eyes. It is a familiar rage - Anakin has always had a passionate soul prone to provocation - but you have never quite seen Anakin _this_ angered and betrayed. 

He is smart; by now, he must know that you selected this time and place for your revelation so that he will be restrained by the ears and eyes around you, and that this encounter will not escape the Council's notice. 

Fear that you might have miscalculated this surges in your heart, but you do not let it show. 

'Anakin, please listen. The Council has discovered us. We cannot-' 

Anakin's features contort with scorn, and it is with mounting rage that he counters, 'The Council? What does this concern them? What need we fear from them? I am the Chosen One, and you are one of their own. They need us. They will not risk us leaving-'

Your heart skips a beat. _Leave?_ He cannot possibly be considering that, even as a threat, in this time of war. You did not think him as festering such resentment towards the Jedi Order. As a Jedi, as someone who holds the safety of the Republic so near to your heart, you must put a stop to this seed of thought, and quickly. 

Hastily, you interrupt. 'It is _because_ you are the Chosen One, Anakin! The Jedi need us. How can we possibly-' 

Anakin's fiery blue eyes darken with suspicion as he grasps onto the meaning behind your words. 'But you _would_?' He persists. 'You would leave this place, rescind the Jedi for me, wouldn't you?' Under the surface of his rage, you sense an alarming despair that your former Padawan is descending into. 

But how can you rescind your words, how can you tell him the truth, now? You have no doubt that Anakin will do and say everything he can to make you both leave the Order for the sake of your relationship in his current state of agitation.

(The truth that _yes, for him, at any other point in time, you would leave the Jedi Order that has been the hand that fed you for as long as you can remember, that has nurtured, trained and given you your purpose_.) 

So you only calm yourself, and meet his eyes directly in the way that you know Anakin thinks means you cannot lie. 'Anakin. I am a Jedi, first and foremost. The Order brought us together, and gave me everything I have. You must know that I cannot leave it in this time when the galaxy is in peril.' 

Heart in your throat, you see Anakin's eyes go blank abruptly. All his anger drops away, veiled, replaced by a coldness that you are unaccustomed to seeing in him towards you. For all the pain his rage caused you, this is infinitely worse. 

In a split second, despite only the mess table separating you physically, Anakin has drawn an unbridgeable distance between you mentally. 

Perhaps you are not the only one who has learned to hide your true emotions. 

And you have never felt half as alone since Qui-Gon's death. 

For the first time since you decided upon this course, doubt shakes you. You are not usually so undecided nor weak; decades of Jedi work have trained you to accept responsibility for both successes and failure with a calm mind. 

But now, you fear that you have underestimated the depth of the impact Anakin's response will have on your soul. 

'Anakin,' you murmur, an apology on the tip of your tongue. 

But Anakin speaks before you can. ' _Enough_.' Your former Padawan's voice is a harsh mockery of his lazy dulcet pillowside tones. 'You've made yourself clear enough. You only care about the Jedi, about how difficult it will be for the Council to deal with us both without your aid.' 

'And for me, you care less enough that you severed our bond without even telling me. What am I - No Master would do this to his Padawan, much less- But I'm _not_ your Padawan any more, am I?' 

_No_ , you think desperately. Nothing can be further from the truth than what Anakin spat out in bitterness, evidently fully believing his words as the explanation for your betrayal. 

But your skill with words has left you, for once. You cannot be sure if anything you say now will be twisted against what you mean by the demon of Anakin's rage.

'Nothing to say?' Anakin spits out vehemently. His anger is returning, as he loses his cool under your infuriating silence. 'Fine, then. I won't bother you any longer. Just answer me this one thing: do you love me, Obi-Wan?' 

And there it is. The unspoken question between you that has cast its shadows of doubt and dissent in your near decade of acquaintance. To protect him from grief, you have tried to keep your distance, to leave the question unanswered. 

And you have failed. 

You gave in to your temptation, to Anakin - _for are the two not one and the same?_ \- and gave him the opportunity to confess his own feelings. Your refusal to confess the same has gnawed a hole in your relationship and Anakin himself, you now see. 

Now, it is only fair to return the sentiment. 

Your clutch your hands together under the table. 'Of course I do, Anakin.' 

You tone is soft. You are realizing that when it comes to matters closest to your heart, you are not much better with your words than anyone else, after all.

'You have been my life's purpose, ever since Qui-Gon's passing. I have spent more years with you now than I did with him. But there are many kinds of love, Anakin. You... you've only confused them, now. When you grow older, you will see-' 

(There are many kinds of love and you think you have loved him in every single way.)

'That you can't love me in that way. Is that what you mean, Master?' The words are bitter, but Anakin's expression has softened. _Master_. He is telling you that he is willing to listen to you, even if what you say means that it will be the last time. Sadness and a growing acceptance thread their way into the frown he wears, emotions that are mirrored in your own heart.

It is not exactly what you meant, but you see a way out of this that will leave your relationship mendable, now. And you are not so selfless as to ignore this path for love of the truth, because you cannot bear to truly lose Anakin. 

'Yes, Anakin.' You choose to say, looking into his eyes. Wishing that you could reach over the space between you to smooth out the sorrow that he now wears (a sorrow that you placed there.) 

But you have already forfeited the right to touch him. 

(Later, you will understand that this is what he heard: that he is a burden that was put to you, after Qui-Gon's death. That you had spent the years with him out of duty, wishing that it had been your old Master instead. That you do not love him in the way he did you.)

(And the self-hatred and self-doubt that he will be tormented by will drive a barrier between you that even the Force cannot break through, until his thoughts are driven to darkness and anger.)

(And then, then - his love will turn into hate.)

For a minute, Anakin is silent. Resignation and sorrow war across his face. He has not quite learnt how to conceal these emotions completely from you. But you cannot speak, cannot reach out to comfort him, trapped by your own words and actions. 

Your blunt nails dig into your palm hard enough to break the skin. 

Finally, Anakin bows his head and stands abruptly. 'I understand, Obi-Wan. I- I have to - I _will_ go, now. The Council will want to hear- The mission reports-' He stumbles with his words as he does with his feet, maneuvering both with a teenage clumsiness that he has long outgrown. 

He turns his head away from you, and you pretend that you do not see the hot tears and sense the hot shame he feels. 

(Already, you are creating another unspoken barrier between you. Weariness worms its way into your heart. Must you go back to pretending, and to lying?)

(You are so tired of it all, already, and it has only just begun anew, this mutual dance of self-deception.)

He must think - and what _must_ he think? That he has somehow forced his unwanted feelings onto you, and that you never really want him? 

And worse; the simmering desire that you think will always haunt you, from the memories you have made together in your bed. 

_The fire of his lips on bare skin as he smirks against your shoulder. The taste of his mouth, the press of him against you, every inch of his skin on yours a welcome burn. The warm, grounding feeling of him wrapped around and in you. Waking to his face buried in your chest, and his solid frame curled in beside you like a cat. The rustling sound when your hand ruffles his unruly curls._

_The aching joy in your chest, every time you wake up beside him. Knowing that it might be the last. Knowing that this might be the day the galaxy takes him away from you, or worse, you from him._

And now you never will again. You've made sure of that yourself. 

It is not the lingering, festering lust that will haunt you. Decades of Jedi training, beginning before you ever experienced its persistent pull, have given you the ability to shut the temptations of the flesh away, as with all other excessive emotions. 

But this, the ache of regret, of having known and forsaken, will follow you forever. 

You will never forget what you have shared in this stolen time, and that you might have had more, if only you were selfish enough ( _oh, if only, if only..._ )

If it feels this agonizing for you, who made the conscious decision to end this, how much worse must it feel for Anakin? 

You almost wish that he had not been so understanding, so _resigned_. As if he had always suspected that you would do this, one day. 

That you don't love him as much as he does you. 

(This is another moment, another point in time, another fork in the paths of fate. But you know this only too late.)

(If you had stopped him then - you might have saved him.) 

But then, you are too old to doubt yourself, and too young to be truly wise. You only think that to let him go and let him arrive at his own answer will help him learn and grow from this, if not forgive you. You don't know if he ever will (you still don't know if he ever did.)

(If you had told him the truth - you could have saved him.)

But you don't. Thinking that you know what's best for him, you don't trust him with your truth. You only lie and think that you are protecting him, _saving_ him. 

You don't stop him from leaving. 

Anakin leaves in silence, but the turmoil of his emotions, tossing and turning within him like a hurricane threatening to tear him apart from inside, can be sensed by any Force user a yard away. 

You keep your own carefully veiled, until you are sure Anakin is far away enough and distracted (with raging into the silence of your shared quarters, with setting himself on your bed with destructive rage until the sheets are torn and ruined, with sobbing and screaming into your pillow, hating and loving your familiar scent).

Then, finally, with a shuddering breath, you let your mental shields drop. 

Immediately, horror, agony and a bone-deep sorrow twist your heart until you fear that your very heartstrings might actually be tearing apart. 

Anakin. Oh, _Anakin_. 

What have you done? What will you do? 

Your eyes are dry as desert sand, but that is almost worse. A small part of you wishes that you could cry and rage with abandon like does, but you know that you cannot. 

Steady, now, you think to yourself. You will be calm, you will keep your emotions in check. You have a duty to the Jedi Council, to the millions and billions of life forms and civilization that you help it protect. 

And it is a duty that will have to rise above even Anakin, in this time of war. 

Not all that far away yet, Anakin cries and rages against the fate you have ordained for you both. But you steel your heart against him, though it pains you more than he, more than anyone will ever know. 

He might never understand. He might never forgive you. That is your due punishment. 

But you have made your choice. You will not go back. You cannot. (And this is the only part you never regret.) 

-

You rebuild your bond with Anakin, eventually. He forgives you, maybe not because he wants to, but because - like you - he cannot be happy without you. You are Jedi; you have lived without love, and you can again - but to lose even simple companionship, you do not think you could survive. 

(But you do. Alone in the desert wastelands, you learn to, because Anakin's memory does not allow you to fail.)

In time, a third bond grows, amidst the asteroid field of broken dreams and forsaken futures of your first and second, dormant and broken respectively. This bond is cultivated cautiously by you both, each of you afraid that you might expose your true feelings to the other. 

It is not the same. The Sith might prove that the Force tolerates deceit and plotting within its folds as equally as it does genuine, honest attachment, but you know in your heart that with your reservations, this new dominant bond between you will never grow any stronger. 

And perhaps it is just as well. The Council must sense the change in your bond, and never asks you about it again. 

-

Mustafar - 

The culmination of all your terrible dreams and all his horrifying deeds. 

(So this is how tragedies happen, you think later. With two beings too obstinate, too convinced of their own self-determined paths, to see any other reason. )

(And what a tragedy yours is.) 

You force your pain away, and throw yourself into duty like you did all those times before. 

You take his boy, the baby with bright blue eyes that are so familiar it hurts. (You knew someone with those eyes, once, before they turned golden and so, so foreign.)

When you turn away from all you have ever known, all you have ever devoted yourself to, it is the last reminder of Anakin Skywalker that you hold in your arms that gives you the strength to continue on. 

-

You have dreams. 

In your dreams you are lost. 

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant where you have lived all your life. The Order itself, condemned and eradicated within days, when it had once stood for centuries. And the Jedi... All your comrades; the ones you have fought together with and known, the ones you never had the chance to. They are lost, together with the Republic they strove to protect. 

The Republic. Senator Amidala's face, so brilliant and beautiful and young (like Anakin was), flashes in your mind. A talented and respected diplomat, and comrade on the battlefield, too. She was a jewel, of Naboo, and the galaxy - a star worthy of _his_ own. 

And _he_ killed her. 

But who is _he_? If they are not one and the same, then when did one become the other? And how could you not have noticed, how could you not have seen it in him? 

Anakin Skywalker, and Darth Vader. Their shadows, one light and one dark, haunt your dreams, taunting you. Their silhouettes dance and mix, until you can no longer tell if you ever knew either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Askskk sorry for the late update;;

tell me a story.           i don’t have any to tell.           (you wouldn’t believe me if i did.)  
you always have stories.            you already know all the good ones.           (the only good ones i have are the ones with you.)  
then tell me an old one.            but you already know how it ends.            (i wish i could forget how this one ends. i think i was happier not knowing.)  
i don’t care.            it’s no fun if you know the ending.           (you should care. this tragedy is a fairytale without it.)  
can’t you make one up? i just want to hear a story.            fine. i’ll tell you a story.            (i’ll tell you a lie. that’s all i have left to give you.)  
okay. i’m listening.           once upon a time, there was a boy with fool’s gold for hair.            (and i couldn’t save him.)  
—but I swear I tried. I did. ( j.p. ) || insp. by @noxalnoesis

 

You have dreams. 

In your dreams you roam. 

The backdrop of your dreams is a spaceless, timeless plain, grey and featureless. You begin all of them rooted to a spot in the indistinguishable landscape, until the unfailing need to escape from the monotony drives you to move. 

(Awake, your life is filled with monotony that you pretend does not dig anxious thoughts under your skin. Anxious thoughts that you are wasting, losing time - losing lives of any other lost Jedi - drive your mind in endless cycles of self-flagellation and self-doubt, even knowing that these thoughts are eroding more of your time, ironically.)

As you walk, your dreamworld unravels. 

The endless plains unfold like paper boxes, color and visions of memories long past overwhelming you from every angle. 

There are memories from your forgotten infancy. They speed by in rushes of too-loud, indecipherable talking voices, voices whose owners are long lost to you. On your tongue, in your open mouth, you taste the salt of the ocean. You move through these distant memories like an infant cradled in the arms of his mother - and perhaps you once were. 

Childhood is tinged with the brown marble of Jedi Temples, with rivalry and friendship, with hopes and disappointment. The first, innocent touch of love returns to you in the cloying scents of Luminara's headdress. Childlike laughter echoes in your ears and fades away too quickly, and you remember - yes, you that are now old was once a youngling, too, free without the heavy weight of knowledge or responsibility. 

Then come the trials and tribulations of becoming a Padawan. Qui-Gon Jinn was a hard man to convince, but when you became his Padawan, you knew that it was worth all your pains. 

Your Padawan years are a rush of growth, violence and emotions, until it all smoothens out into the clear, quiet peace you learned that all true Jedi possess. The images of fear, anger, joy and heartbreak around you loop on, but you only watch them with serenity as you walk away from them. 

Select memories prickle against your skin like the itch of sand, threatening to break your calm. 

Confessing to Siri, and the thrill of knowing that she felt the same. The pain of letting her go, and the warmth of the comfort you sought with your Master, after. That night, you and Qui-Gon sat, side by side, watching the city lights of Coruscant glitter like stars, as your Master shared with you the tale of his own lost love. 

Meeting Satine on a bodyguard mission with your Master, and falling in love with the bright glow in her eyes when she spoke of her dreams of keeping Mandalore's peace. And the agony of feeling her die in your arms, of being helpless, tearing at your heart then, and fracturing your serenity now. 

Through it all, your Master, Qui-Gon, was there to guide you. Even now, in your dreams, you feel the steady, grounding weight of his presence shrouding you like an aura. You loved him, like most Padawans did their Masters, though in your naïveté you each thought your love was deeper and therefore better than the others'. 

You loved him, but you couldn't save him, either. 

And then, of course, there is Anakin. 

The memories of your former Padawan begin, tinged with green jealousy and yellow insecurities, from the time of your acquaintance by your Master's hand. Then, you feared that Qui-Gon, whose love you won, hard-fought, would forsake you for the Chosen One. 

You feared that your promotion to Jedi Knight would come not from personal merit, but from your Master's desire to sever your ties early. Worse, you might be reassigned under another Master. 

All your insecurities, all your jealousy; they came to define your own Master-Padawan relationship with Anakin. No matter how dear he grew to you, you never forgot: that he was the Chosen One, destined to grow into powers you will never possess. 

The scenery around you begins to change as you progress onwards. You try to reign in your consciousness. You know what comes next. 

But in your dreams, you walk on.

Qui-Gon dies in your arms. When his fingers slip from your cheek, they take with him your tears and his half of your Force bond. He leaves you with the hallowing agony of half your soul being torn away. 

Your Master entrusts Anakin to you, as does the Council. And that will have to be enough. 

At least, that is what you think then, when you cannot imagine loving anyone as much as you did Qui-Gon, with the memory of his death so fresh in your mind and soul. 

But then, but then...

Anakin grows up. His skill with the lightsaber and his talent with the Force grow with every day, with every inch he grows in height and every inch his Padawan braid lengthens. 

The insecurities and jealousy eating at you slowly nurture into warm fondness and pride. 

He makes you proud, with all he grows into, even as his willfulness exasperates you along with the rest of the Council. Perhaps most of all, he makes you proud with the light in his eyes whenever he looks at you. 

Master. 

The word resounds around you, in his voice. It is both warm, like the times he looked at you with awe and pride, and cold, like the last time he spat it out at your feet. 

Without consciously realizing it, Anakin became your life's dedication, your life's purpose. 

And then, one day on a ship - your relationship changes again, and you realized that he had become your entire life. 

It was not healthy, it was not sane, it was not right. It was an attachment that went far beyond what the code dictated for a Jedi. But by the time you recognized your feelings for what they were, it was far too late. 

You speed past the memories of your last years with Anakin. The gaps and cracks in him, the darkness wrought into him by doubt and fear, so invisible to you in life, are painfully obvious in your dreams. 

Through every image you see his torment, hear his cries for help. Master, save me. Ask me what's wrong. 

But you never did, and he never spoke those words. 

And it tears at your heart every single time you are forced to live through the memories in your dreams. 

Then, finally, the scenery around you morphs into a fiery hell. 

You have relieved this scene so many times, dreaming and awake, that it at least offers no new horrors to you. 

You can only stand at the edge of the molten lava, and watch him burn. 

When you wake your eyes are dry. You have not shed tears for many years, now (you used to wake up with them wet on your cheek, but even the catharsis of tears seems lost to you now.)

You do not think you are like to ever again.

\- 

Tatooine is a warm planet. 

Well, no. That it an understatement to the extreme, as any inhabitant of the desert planet will tell you. 

In the first months after your abrupt settlement planetside, you establish the persona of Ben Kenobi. 

A hermit, stranded in the Jundland Wastes by a turn in his fortunes, with a modest little hut and a carefully controlled expenditure in the markets, draws no more attention than intended. 

The newly formed Galactic Empire, rising like a dark phoenix from the ashes of the old Republic, displaced many inhabitants of the galaxy from their places. Scattered like chess pieces whose usefulness have been exhausted, the eager sought to find another to sustain their livelihoods, dispersing across the galaxy.

Others, encumbered and embittered by their dying pasts, sought refuge and invisibility in pockets of the galaxy. 

The secretive, hooded persona of Ben Kenobi, reclusive even amongst the mostly hostile inhabitants of the Wastes, belongs, for all intents and purposes, to the second group.

After dispatching the few more reckless or ruthless bandits who attempted to rob you in the first months, you begin the process of settling into your new life. 

It is more difficult than you anticipated. 

Alone and away from the Core, you are forced to distance yourself from the Galactic Empire's politics and its insidious workings - as you intended to. 

Palpatine's machinations are out of your sphere of interference, now. The Jedi, once capable of foiling the Sith's plans, are scattered at best and lost at worst. Alone, you have no hope of being more than a thorn in the Empire's side - and a thorn swiftly plucked away, at that. 

No, you have never been so foolish and proud to think you can take on Palpatine - much less the Empire with its growing army of clones - alone.

Now, a gentler and more peaceful task is for you. 

You will spend your years in this barren place that Anakin, who burned with passionate life, grew from. Perhaps you might even spend your last days here. 

You cannot think of a more painful or fitting due. 

It is in the middle of sweeping your hut clean for the second time in a day - the sands of Tatooine seep into every crevice and crack of your door and walls - that you come to the realization: you are lonely. 

The Jedi forbade attachment. But even without attachment, there was a communal companionship in the Temples between its inhabitants. 

Now, no such luxury is available to you. 

When the gnawing at your grows too strong and you too weak, you turn to Qui-Gon Jinn for guidance. 

Master. Qui-Gon. 

Your Master never had the chance to grant you the permission of calling him by his first name like you did with Anakin, but you do not think he would have minded. 

Help me in my time of need. Guide me with your words. 

But the Force works in mysterious ways, and Qui-Gon rarely replies. Your Bond thrums with echoing emptiness on your end. A silence you are well used to, but that you have never quite resigned yourself to. 

The thought echoes in the crevices of your mind: one day. Perhaps one day, you will speak with your beloved Master freely again.

For now, you can only placate yourself with the memories, well-worn and fading at the edges but no less dear to you, of Qui-Gon's advice. 

Sometimes, in the hazy, timeless twilight between your dream-plagued slumber and sober wakefulness, you can almost swear that you feel his presence over you, a blue shadow of infinite wisdom and strength. 

But when you wake, you are always alone. 

-

You watch Luke from a distance. 

You have questioned, in the silent emptiness of your self-imposed exile, if it would have been better to raise Luke yourself. You have allowed yourself to imagine his light laughter echoing in your humble abode in the Jundland Wastes, his warm presence like a beacon of joy shining out in the destitute wasteland.

But the danger of two Force-sensitives living together, your Force signatures mixing so closely, was too great. Even if Darth Vader knows not to seek his son, you doubt that your already shallow taps into the Force would be able to conceal someone other than yourself in its nets. 

That, and - you cannot raise another Skywalker, you cannot. 

Though by no fault of his own, Luke is a living symbol of your failure. First, your failure to protect his mother, Padmé, from the monster his father became. And worse, your failure in raising and teaching him, and all its horrifying consequences to the galaxy, 

Luke is both your last mistake and final chance at redemption. 

And though you love him with all the broken parts left of your heart, you will not risk failing him, too. 

Luke grows in spurts and bursts, in between the intervals of your silent, unnoticed vigil over him. 

In the first years, you do not visit him often.

Owen Lars is not fond of you, and has expressed his sentiments vocally on several occasions. His words, simple and honest like the man he is, cut as deep as Vader's on Mustafar. This is a man so far removed from the affairs between Jedi and Sith, Republic and Empire by his status and living, that his grievance could only stem from personal grief over his stepbrother Anakin. 

(You have been faced with so much destruction and hatred towards Darth Vader and the Empire, with all those who knew Anakin either dead or gone, that you have forgotten that others that mourn his loss exist. The reminder fills you with both joy and sadness; that true friends of Anakin Skywalker remain, so your actions have given you few cause for sorrow. 

And while in his wife, Beru, you find a genuine sympathizer and supporter, her duty to you is second to her husband. The short holo messages about Luke dwindle over the years, though her smile when you greet each other in the markets remains kind. 

Besides, in Luke's toddler years, the watchful eyes of his new parents were mostly enough to ensure his safety, even as the boy seemed to run all over the planet to satisfy his yearning for adventure. 

A few times, you had to step in to prevent him from getting into danger, but even the small amount of the Force's energies that you allow yourself to borrow has been sufficient in resolving the issues and keeping your own tracks covered. 

Luke is eight when he first stands up against injustice. 

The infamous crime lord Jabba the Hutt's exploits are reviled and revered in turn throughout the galaxy, but his presence on Tatooine, his base, is equal to that of an unofficial governor. His minions are many, and, emboldened by their master's influence, often preposterous and outrageous in their extortions from the resident moisture farmers. 

Luke, brimming with anger at the injustice, snuck out in the middle of the night to steal the stolen water back from Jabba. 

A brave endeavor for a noble cause, no doubt, but the foolish lack of consideration of the danger he was putting himself and the Lars in makes you shake your head, even as you rush to protect your charge. 

A foolish brashness, you think as you travel, not unlike that which Anakin had once possessed. Memories of a hundred different missions, small and big, where your former Padawan had acted with what you afterwards chastised as recklessness, flood your mind. 

In any other time, you would force yourself to push away thoughts of Anakin like you would in your dreams. But today, the memory of him only sharpens your resolve to protect Luke, in turn strengthening your sense within the Force of the boy's location. 

Perhaps for the first time, you realize that you can relieve your fond memories of Anakin without them being tainted by your knowledge of his end. 

You realize that the love you shared has become a bottomless reserve of strength for you - and maybe has always been. 

(Maybe the Jedi were wrong. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe admitting love could be as much a strength as the dangerous liability it was deemed, you think, and despair.) 

(But maybe it is not too late. Maybe with Luke, you can right this wrong...)

When you lift Luke's unconscious but unharmed body up into your arms, relief floods you. It has always seemed natural to you that Anakin's son will have as great a destiny as he did. 

It is only with him safe that you acknowledge your secret fear - that Luke's destiny will not save him (like it didn't save Anakin.) 

You feel the warm pulses of his dormant but powerful signature flow in the Force. Even untrained, Luke's sensitivity to the Force is growing glaringly obvious. Any Force user who stepped foot on the planet would be able sense it, if his powers continued to grow at this rate. 

Hesitating, you reach out into the Force. The boy's potential is undeniable, but it is still unhoned. It would be easy for someone with your skill to construct a barrier around him that will dim his undefined Force signature, a trick you learned in your Jedi days from the men and women who transported scouted younglings to the Temples.

But there might be side-effects, especially if you are not available in the future to remove the barrier. A barrier might even inhibit Luke's natural talent with the Force. 

Is it worth it? You ask yourself. Is it worth the risk of diminishing his natural birthright to add another layer of security? 

And yet who is to say Luke will ever want, or be allowed to train in the ways of the Force? Anakin's fate has taught you many painful lessons about the danger of complacency regarding destiny. 

Your hand hovers over his forehead.

By the time you reach the Lars homestead, the meticulously constructed barrier around Luke's Force signature is complete. You deposit him unceremoniously on his uncle's doorstep. After all, he has made his aunt and uncle worry (and you, though he will never know how much.)

Still, you watch from a safe distance until day breaks and Beru finds him, bringing him back into the safety of home with alarmed cries for her husband. 

Just in case. Always see your job to the end, no matter how painful the process might be. This is another lesson Anakin's fall taught you.

Then, you turn away alone, a lonely hooded figure under the orange Tatooine sky.

-

When Luke is fourteen he runs away from home. 

The volcano of tension that has been steadily building from the disagreement between uncle and nephew regarding Luke's future finally erupted, culminating in a shouting match between the two. 

You have observed Luke's passion for flying and adventure grow over the years, a passion amplified by his young friends' dreams of soaring amongst the stars as pilots. 

His uncle, however, has ever been staunchly against the idea of Luke joining the Imperial Academy for education to become a pilot. You understand this from between the lines of Beru's messages, and snippets of Luke's conversation with his friends that you overhear. 

At fourteen, Luke's older friends are beginning to leave, one after another, for the Academy. 

Fearing the first tendrils of loneliness lurking in the back of his mind, Luke confronted his guardians about his plans for schooling. 

In argument that resulted, his uncle firmly maintained his stance of disapproval, causing Luke, angered and suddenly fearful about his future, to run off into the desert plains with only a bag of supplies on his back. 

Beru contacted you, increasingly worried as the hours passed with no sign of Luke's return. And rightly so. Tatooine might not be a vastly populated planet like Coruscant, but the people who roam its plains at night are no less complicated and potentially dangerous. 

Jabba's numerous minions, the more tricky Jawas whom often seek victims of swindling under the cover of darkness, and the aggressive Tusken Raiders might all prove dangerous to an aggrieved, agitated boy alone at night. And even without these dangers, the natural climate of Tatooine made its sandstorms deadly. 

By the time you find Luke, it is near midnight. 

By pure luck or the boy's skill in stealth, he is unharmed. You find him attempting to make shelter for the night on the desert floor with little other than his backpack, with only a small fire to keep away the cold.

As you approach, you feel Luke's surprise and fear spike in the Force, and hasten to send soothing emotions over to prevent him from spooking away from you. 

It seems to work. Luke's tense shoulders sag in relief as he makes out your bearded face when you throw your hood back. 'Ben?' He questions, confused at your sudden appearance. 

In the past years you have made visible contact with the Lars, even visited their homestead a few times as a guest. Luke knows your face well, though your personal interactions have been little. Most times, after your inquiries about the boy's wellbeing have been answered - patiently by Beru and guardedly by Owen - you leave, before Luke returns from his daytime activities on the farm or with his friends. 

You smile, tired but fond. 'Young Luke Skywalker. Whatever might you be doing here at this late hour?' 

-

Luke tells you the story of his row with his uncle and subsequent escape from the homestead, growing sheepish, though still indignant, under your faintly amused gaze.

'I know. I shouldn't make them worry like this.' He admits, frowning as he bows his head in shame. Then he raises his head, stubborn determination written over his face. 'But this is my life, Ben. Don't I deserve to choose my own path?' 

His blue eyes shine with a tormented passion that you so often saw in another pair of eyes, so familiar to you that for a minute, your lips form the wrong name. 

'Anakin.' The word tastes bittersweet on your tongue. 

You have not said it aloud in so long. Even in your one-sided conversations with Qui-Gon's memory, you have not used this name - it is always 'him', the other who first came between you and your old master. 

And now you are the one reintroducing him between you. 

But where Anakin Skywalker's eyes burned with the deeds and sights he had lived through, Luke Skywalker's are clear, unburdened by any touch of doubt or darkness. 

Oh, what you would give for them to always remain so pure - even as you know that no being who bore the name Skywalker could have a simple destiny. 

Like his father before him, Luke is destined for greatness, for adventures that will one day be recounted by bards in taverns and courts alike across the galaxy. 

(And because he is a Skywalker, he is destined for loneliness and solitude, for being alone in a crowd of people screaming his name.) 

(Those who stand at the peak often find it lonely. You know this.)

Luke's eyes widen in surprise, then delight. 'Do you - did you know my father?' He asks, the words tripping over themselves as they spill out of him in his rush. 

You hesitate, but it is too late. That smile. It is too bright, too much like him. And you never could say no to Anakin (not when it truly mattered.)

'Obi-Wan Kenobi - he was a distant relative of mine.' You catch yourself before you reveal too much of the truth. Not yet. 

Despite Luke's inability to understand, Owen is right to be cautious and protective. The Empire's reach grows further every day, its dark shadow extending across the galaxy. Its spies are everywhere, and the wrong words caught by the wrong ears might rain hail and fire down on the Lars. 

'They fought together,' you add, when confusion crosses Luke's expression. 'He and your father.' 

Despite yourself, you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. Yes, if even the name of Anakin Skywalker has been gradually forgotten, why should that of Obi-Wan Kenobi live on? 

(After all, your fates were so closely tied near the end that you imagine the threads of your signatures in the Force were tangled together beyond hope of separation.)

(And now...)

'Tell me a story,' he pleads, hands clutched into excited balls of fists placed on his knees as he leans forward, eager. 'Tell me a story and then I'll go with you.'

'Not today, boy.' You smile, tiredly, hoping your reluctance will dissuade the young boy. He is a kind boy, after all; with none of Anakin's unhoned edges and residual rage from his slavery days, you are discovering. 

No, Luke's fire is a gentle one, a flame that warms those blessed with his company and nurtures the best of intentions that shine out of a face that is both too familiar and too unfamiliar. 

But this time, Luke does not abate so easily. There is, after all, still a stubborn streak in his Skywalker blood. In this treasured stolen moment, away from the dust and heat of the desert and loneliness, you are not quite saddened by the association. 

'You have stories,' the boy persists. The bonfire crackles like lightning - like the bright anticipation in his intent blue eyes. 

And you do. You have a hundred different stories, long and short, from your missions together to his daily shenanigans in his Padawan days when your shared quarters made you privy to them. 

Though in keeping with the Jedi Code's warnings against attachment you never voiced it, you were grateful for the invulnerability the Chosen One mantle seemed to endow Anakin with. 

Too many Padawans were lost by their Master's sides on early missions - either to death or to the Dark. In this way, you were thankful that Anakin was your first (and last), that you never had to know the timeless pain of the old sending off the young. 

Of course, Anakin had his fair share of close calls and injuries throughout the years - the work of the Jedi was always dangerous. But you were always comforted by the fact that Anakin would not be taken (from you.)

(But was it a blessing or a curse, this belief of yours? For it to have sustained you all his Jedi years, only to cruelly wrench him from you at the end.) 

(In truth, you always assumed that Anakin would survive you.)

Now, you do not know if being the Chosen One had ever protected him any more than his skill with a lightsaber and his talent for the Force did. 

You keep your smile light, though you cannot keep the sadness from your eyes as you reply. 'You already know all the good ones.' You lie. Owen and Beru might have satisfied him with altered tales of Anakin's more well-known exploits, but many of Anakin's deeds could not have fit the position of a TIE fighter in the Clone Wars. 

(This boy with his eyes and his hair, you would like to tell him all the good stories you have to tell about him, one day.)

Luke frowns, an adorably perplexed expression that makes you long to reach out to smoothen out the lines that form on his forehead. 'Then tell me an old one,' he suggests, pouting at what he no doubt sees as you being a spoilsport. 

The smile peters off your face. Suddenly, all you can think of is the one story you have never told Luke. 

The one that began with Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi partners, and ended with Darth Vader and Ben Kenobi, shadows of the men they once were. 

For a moment, all you can see is the fiery scape of Mustafar, all you can smell is choking ash. All you can hear is that hatred-filled scream - I hate you! 

'Ben?' Luke's voice cuts in, breaking your reverie. You startle, eyes refocusing on the boy's concerned expression. That's right. You're Ben Kenobi now, an aging hermit of the Jundland Wastes, whose bountiful knowledge of Obi-Wan and Anakin's adventures stems only from your dubiously claimed distant relation to the older lost Jedi. 

Ben Kenobi would not know the pain of having loved and lost a star.

A lie, you decide. You will tell Luke a beautiful lie. You will end the story the way a boy who yearns for a father he has never known will think is heroic, though it will hurt you all the more for it. 

You no longer believe in lying to protect (your lies to Anakin only gave Palpatine more wedges to drive between you.) But perhaps you could start believing in lying to preserve (to preserve the light in Luke's eyes when you speak of his father.)

'Alright. I'll tell you a story, Luke.' You relent, and watch as the boy's face transforms with anticipation and glee. 

You settle yourself down by the fire, a sigh escaping your lips as you gather your words. All the while, Luke stares at you with a new awe, your new identity as a bearer of his father's memory shaping you anew in his mind. 

Under the Tatooine sky, you begin your tale. 'Once upon a time, there was a young boy with golden hair and blue eyes...'

When you carry Luke back to the Lars homestead, he is sound asleep, a content smile on his face. And though your heart is heavy, it feels lighter than it has in decades.

-

The first thing you see is Beru standing under the arch of the Lars homestead, anxiously looking out for any sign of her child. 

When you near her, you sense the waves of relief pouring off her through the Force. She retreats briefly into the house, and returns with Owen, from whom you feel a mixture of anger and relief emanate. 

Beru clasps a hand to your arm in gratitude before ushering you inside. With a glance at her husband, who only looks back in stoic anger but does not move to take Luke from you, you enter the Lars' abode. 

Inside, you lay Luke down on his bed. At the movement and the loss of your warmth, the boy stirs, his mouth shaping a name. 'Obi-Wan...' 

For a moment, your heart skips a beat. Has he guessed...? Surely, he cannot know. But you remember another Skywalker, and how astute he always was. 

A flash of anger from behind shakes you out of your daze. You turn to see Owen Lars staring at you, evidently having misunderstood. 

'We need to talk.' 

Your eyes flicker to Luke, yawning and blinking his eyes open. 'Uncle?' He asks sleepily, and in a split-second decision you place your hand on his forehead and gently weave the tendrils of sleep back around him. 

Luke's eyes fall closed, and you feel his body and mind relax as he drifts off into slumber again. 

Only then do you turn back to Owen and nod your head in acquiescence. 

In the living room, Beru is anxiously waiting. 

Her eyes flicker from you to her husband, and she opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it again and shakes her head. Rising, she makes for Luke's bedroom. 

When she passes Owen, she takes his arm and reminds, 'Don't be too harsh. You know he doesn't mean Luke any harm.' 

You do not think she intends you to overhear, but your heart warms for her nevertheless. Her husband only grunts in reply, but you sense his aggressiveness alleviating. 

The door to Luke's room closes to the sounds of the boy rousing and Beru's quiet chiding.

Finally, you are alone with Anakin's stepbrother. 

Owen gestures for you to sit by the table, and settles down across you. You obey, and stare at him patiently. 

In the years past you have attempted to make friendly with the moisture farmer. After all, there are not many left in the galaxy who knew Anakin and are proud of it. This is the man whom you entrusted Luke to, and you do not want any unpleasantry between you. 

But Owen made his stance towards you known almost immediately. 

He was grateful for his nephew being delivered into his care, but he saw it - as you did - as penance for the wrongs you made with Anakin. Despite your initial efforts, he never warmed to you like Beru did. 

Even so, he never tried to discredit you in front of Luke - and Luke's eyes have never once dimmed when they met yours by chance in the market square, or across the desert plains. 

Now, however, looking into Owen's stoic eyes, you feel that that might be about to change. 

'What did you tell him?' He demands. 

'Only stories.' You reply. You did not mean to sound so resigned or so guilty, but before this man who has the right to condemn you - and who has exercised that right before - it seems that you can only lower your head in penance. 

Penance. If only the Lars accepted your penance, in any form of aid you are able to give in your diminished form. The Jedi livelihood did not award much in personal wealth, but you have credits enough as insisted favors from your many dealings with the Republic's top brass. 

Throughout the years, you have offered the Lars aid - money, protection - but they rejected it every time, even when you argued that it was for Luke's sake. 

Perhaps they only did so because they wanted to raise Luke out of their own care, but you always suspected that some part of their rejection was because of Owen's perception that it would lessen your guilt towards the Skywalkers. 

And no amount of material compensation will ever compare to what you did to Anakin (what you let him become.)

You know this. You know this more than even Owen, his blood relation, can ever know. Because you were there, with him, every step of his rise and fall.

(But were you really? The voice in your head asks, tormenting you with answerless questions. You weren't there when Palpatine tainted him with darkness, when Padmé gave him her love, when he was consumed by the Dark.) 

Owen's eyes narrow, clearly disbelieving. 'Luke knew your name.' 

You only stare back at him, serene in your helplessness. You do not blame him for his anger. Once, perhaps, in the early days of your hermithood, you might have cried out in retaliation: you loved him too, and would love him again. 

Now, there is only peace, and resignation, left in you. You are old, now. In truth, you have been living only for what little hope you allow yourself to retain - the hope that Luke is a living symbol of (like Anakin was.)

'- cannot continue. Don't talk to Luke again. His father - he need never know. Here, he will be safe. Beru and I - we will keep him safe. Aye, a boring life it might be for a young lad like him. But it is a good livelihood, predictable and sustainable with the right skills. 

As for you - stay away from him. I - Thank you for bringing him to us. But if you want the best for Luke - no matter what you might think - you will damn well stay away from him.' 

The farmer's eyes glint with grit and determination. He does not threaten you; he does not have anything to threaten you with. 

He does not need to. 

You bow your head and stand. 'I understand.' 

You once thought you knew what was best for Anakin Skywalker, and you are paying for that mistake even now. 

You will not presume the same about Luke Skywalker. 

Though it is not only out of fear out repeating your mistakes. If your long years in solitude have given you nothing else, it has at least awarded you a plentitude of time. Time to think, to reflect; and realize that maybe sometimes, it is best to leave beings to their own devices and paths. 

For all the ways all the players in the game tried to control and manipulate Anakin, who can say who truly succeeded, if any one had indeed? 

The Jedi tried to mould him to their purposes and philosophy, and that only fueled his rebellion and unhappiness towards the Order. Palpatine fed him twisted truths and exploited the Order's many secrets, but even he nearly perished at Mace Windu's hand. 

To the end, Anakin Skywalker had a choice. 

And he made his own decision. 

So you will not seek to enforce your ideals and hopes upon young Luke Skywalker. If he wishes it, you will advise him, but not command his actions; you will guide him, but not instruct him. 

Owen looks up at you, confounded. Evidently, he did not expect you to concede so easily. But you have imposed worse exiles on yourself and survived. 

'I will leave. But first...' Your eyes trail to Luke's bedroom door, closed to you. And perhaps from now on it always will be. 'You will allow me one last thing, won't you?' 

Your companion glances down, and does not look at you. He suddenly looks very tired, and you wonder if, just for a moment, his heart feels as heavy as yours has for a decade now. 

You walk to Luke's door, and ease it open. 

Inside, Beru and Luke turn to you in unison. 'Ben?' The boy with his blue eyes asks. 

You look at Beru. 'If I may,' you request, not unkindly. She only nods, and stands. 

She leaves the door closed behind her. 

Then, you are alone. 

And then, only then, do you sit down by Luke's bed, and bring your hand to cup his cheek gently. Blue eyes flicker in confusion, but the boy does not pull away. 

For perhaps the first time, you think, this boy is not Anakin. This boy will not know you like Anakin did, and is not doomed to do what Anakin did. 

The realization lifts a veil from your eyes. As Anakin's shadow fades from his features, you see Luke with a new sight. 

You see the curve of Padmé's smile, the light of her eyes. You sense her soft firmness that encases his unbridled fire in their son. 

And most important of all, you see Luke, the crystallization of the union of two brilliant souls, yet his own man. 

You feel a surge of warmth and a tightness in your chest that you feared you never would again. Your eyes fill with impossible tears. 

Yes, Anakin made his own decision. And so will you. 

You decide, then, what you will do.

'Do you want to hear a story, Luke Skywalker?'

-

You leave the Lars homestead with a promise to never step foot on it ever again, and the intention to honor it. 

You leave Luke with this memory buried, but not wiped. One day, you hope that he might remember, if you do not get the chance to tell the tale again. 

But for now, you will withdraw, and diminish into the shadows, even as your spirit grows stronger. 

You will let Luke trip and pick himself up, laugh and cry, hope and fear, and experience all the unbridled joys and sadness of youth like Anakin never could. 

And alone in your hut, you will dare to dream. 

You will dare to hope. 

-

You have dreams.

-

You have dreams and they are vivid in both emotions and events, the same events that haunt your every waking hour in cruel clarity; they are filled with violent deaths and grief so agonizing that you wake with tears brimming in your eyes. 

But you also dream of other, better, brighter, Lighter things. 

You dream of your time with Anakin Skywalker, when he still went by that name. You dream of daring flights and clear laughter, and it makes your old body tremble with the tingling of youth again. 

You dream and it makes you stronger, makes you convinced that somewhere, somehow, deep within, Anakin Skywalker still lives. 

When the time comes you do not know if you will be strong enough. But you will try.

(You will, and you do. Because somewhere within you, Obi-Wan Kenobi still lives and loves, too.)

-

Luke is seventeen when he turns up on your doorstep again. Your life is about to change forever for the last time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin finds himself in the mystical realm of the Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, an update!

_Love of mine_  
_Someday you will die_  
_But I'll be close behind_  
_I'll follow you into the dark_

_No blinding light_  
_Or tunnels, to gates of white_  
_Just our hands clasped so tight_  
_Waiting for the hint of a spark_

_If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied_  
_Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs_  
_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks_  
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_  
_\- I'll Follow You Into the Dark, Death Cab for Cutie_

 

You have not had dreams for a long time. 

Darth Vader did not dream. When necessary, sleep was induced by artificial drugs that pumped through your veins - just another way your body was turned into a machine.

But you are sure that this must be some sort of dream-before-death, a tunnel to the lightless eternity you no doubt deserve. If you are lucky, you might never wake up again. 

The Force is a throbbing, concentrated mass when you reach out to it - you have never been in a place where it felt stronger or more focused. Strangely, though the potential energy surpasses any you have felt before, you are unable to tap into it for your needs. 

Thick mist clouds your vision on all sides. You are standing in what must be a forest, from the brush of cold leaves against your bare feet. _Wait, what?_ You glance down instinctively, your heart jumping in your throat, though you know the cloying mist will not offer you clear sight. 

Ignoring the illogically arrhythmic thudding of your heart - the mask never allows your breathing to become too irregular - you reach down with your hands, and a shock runs through you when you feel no burning pain, but the visceral, human sensation of skin against skin. 

_It cannot be._ Uncontrollably, a rough gasp escapes you, and your throat tightens. _Oh, that you might be given this last gift, even in a dream_ \- 

'Welcome, Anakin Skywalker.' 

The voice rings, out of the blue. Literally, you realize. As you look up, the mist around you lifts, and you find yourself standing in a glade. An ethereal blue glow permeates the field, a reminder that you are no longer in the lands of the living. 

Stepping out of the fading mist is a figure dressed in a brown cloak, approaching you in long strides. Your pulse stutters when you take in the familiar countenance, but then you realize your mistake - this being is taller than he ever was. 

Still, the voice is a familiar one. Though you cannot quite place it - 

The flash of a long beard flitters into view from under the heavy brown hood, and a shock of memories hits you like a blast - this man's large, callused hands taking hold of yours, dwarfing you in his grip, firm but gentle. 

Suddenly, you have the absurd impulse to rush ahead and grab his hand, just to feel if he is as warm as you remember. Now that the gift of touch has been returned to you, the ache for human sensation itches under your skin. 

But you also remember staring up at him with adoration and respect. Even now, when your short time with him seems light years past, with the memories so fleeting they feel more stolen from a victim's mind than truly yours, a part of you bows to his compelling presence. 

No - perhaps you are right. Vader did not know this man, this Jedi, long dead by the time he was born from a fiery hell. 

Anakin Skywalker, however... The boy whose name you renounced, the identity which was taken from you - but which was it, did you ever have a choice, or were you just blinded to your choices? - remembers this man who might have been his Master in a different universe. 

'Master Qui-Gon Jinn...? How is this - I -' 

You are abashed. You would not have thought yourself capable of embarrassment ever again, but in front of Qui-Gon, you feel forty decades too young and childishly ignorant in the face of his aged wisdom. 

Qui-Gon does not answer you. Turning his head to the side, he smiles. 'Well, Master? How do you judge him?' 

As you watch on in wonder, the space beside the Jedi Master ripples and tears until a figure manifests into view. Even blue-tinged, like all things in this strange limbo world seem to be, you recognize the short frame and green skin instantly. 

Emotions choke the back of your throat. With Qui-Gon's appearance, you had conveniently forgotten the Jedi's demise and your role in it - after all, your Master's Master had been long gone by then, a revered but mostly dormant memory for most Jedi on Coruscant. 

But Yoda... Master Yoda had been there when you led the storming of the Jedi Temple, when you turned your cloak from Light to Dark. You had never allowed yourself regret over your actions for decades, but now - where do you stand now? 

You are no longer Darth Vader, Sith of the Galactic Empire, whose dark visage was paralleled only with the emptiness of his own heart. But neither can you be Jedi Knight Skywalker, Chosen One of a decimated Order, whose passions ruled and ruined everything he cared for. 

Can you repent now, throwing yourself upon their mercy as Jedi, with complete honesty? Is there not still some part of you that knew the weaknesses of the Jedi Order, and saw them as wrongs committed by the Jedi whose blue spirits stand before you now?

So you hesitate, the words stuck in your throat. 

'Repentant, he is. Redeemed, not so easily.' The wrinkled Jedi Master replies slowly. The gaze he casts upon you is far from warm, but neither is it accusatory. 

'Indeed. If he is here, it is through the will of the Force.' 

For a moment, the illusion that you are back in the meeting room of the Jedi Council sweeps like a veil over your eyes. Yes, back in those bygone days, you used to begrudge the Council's tendency to speak over you when you were summoned to their attention. 

And when you became Vader, you took a secret satisfaction in the deathly silence that fell whenever you entered a room, savored the way even the Empire's highest-ranking, proudest officers' mouths gaped as their self-assured voices died. After all, there hadn't been much of anything else to feel, for the Sith. 

Now, however, you cannot quite put your finger on what you are feeling. A strangely bittersweet sensation twists around your heart like vines. Nostalgia? The feeling - the ability to feel itself is so foreign to you now that you find you cannot be sure. 

Qui-Gon turns to face you once again. 

'Welcome, Anakin Skywalker, to your final test.' 

-

'I... I don't understand.' 

'Given you a chance, the Force has. Guide you, Master Jinn shall.' Yoda inclines his head towards the tall Jedi, who gives you a familiar smile.

'But I - What test? And what is this place?' Suspicion and hope vie for dominance in your treacherous heart. For this to be more than one last illusionary dream - can you really allow yourself to hope for something like redemption? 

But oh, hope is a dangerous thing. Only moments before, you were happy enough to have had a little time with Luke before you passed. And now... 

Now your heart thumps and races at the hope of seeing your children again. _Oh, Leia..._ You have so much to tell her, so much to ask her forgiveness for. 

But perhaps this is somewhere where only the dead roam free, and you are only passing through. It is like the Jedi to take up the role of gatekeepers to afterlife, controllers of the galaxy they strived to be. If so... 

_Mother, Padmé..._ Your heart seizes as each name, accompanied by images of their faces, rings aloud in your mind. No matter how much to loved and tried to protect them - in the end, their deaths had all been connected to you... _Obi-Wan._

Your Master whom you slew by your own hand. If you fail this test, whatever it is, you hope to see him, at least, before the end. 

_To tell him that he didn't fail after all. To tell him that even when you couldn't, he saw something in you that might be redeemed. To tell him that you-_

Your thoughts are interrupted by Qui-Gon's sombre bass. 'This is what comes after for Jedi, Anakin. There is no death...' 

'... there is the Force.' You recall, the words sliding off your tongue more easily than you expected. 

The Code, once ingrained into your mind as part of your Padawan training, has been gathering dust in the crooks and crannies of your mind for the past decades. You denounced it along with the rest of the Jedi way, but you were never quite able to banish it from memory. Still... 

'But I'm not a Jedi.' You have not been for a very long time, and even now, having turned your back on the Dark, you cannot imagine taking up their ways again. Not now, when you have seen and known so much of this vast galaxy and its inhabitants. 

Yoda lifts his head and stares into your eyes. His gaze is thoughtful and penetrating, and you suddenly remember all the times you consulted him over your Padawan years. The wizened Jedi's advice had been invaluable, but all of his goodwill and advice had amounted to nothing against the dark wave of your wrath. 

_I can't_ , you try to communicate to the Jedi Master. If there is any truth you have learnt from your many wrongs and rights, it is that the ascetic, ritualistic life of the Jedi is not for you. _I cannot become a Jedi again, Master._

For a long minute Yoda scrutinizes you. 'No,' he finally utters. 'Jedi, you cannot be. Yet more Light than Dark, you are; else here, you would not be.' 

'A test to decide the balance within you, you must undertake, as all who enter here. A test this is, for Master Jinn as well. May the Force be with you, young ones.' 

The wizened Jedi Master indicates for Qui-Gon to take over. With a slight bow, the taller Jedi steps aside as the fabric of space around Yoda begins to tear apart, until the green visage shimmers out of sight again. 

At last, you are alone with Qui-Gon Jinn on the blue plane. 

A breeze sweeps past you. You shiver, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders. This is yet another simple sensation that you have missed; the cold metal of your body - no, suit - insulated, but it also detached -

- _Wait. A cloak?_ Glancing down, you see brown Jedi robes enveloping your frame. Before you can open your mouth to ask, a shimmer catches your eye. 

Along the fabric of the robe across your left shoulder, four emblems are embedded. 

Pebbled in shape and colored in the darkest pitch, they seem to hum as you brush your fingers over them. 'What-' you whisper. It is a bizarre fashion addition to the Jedi robes, in light of their current state of nonexistence. 

'They symbolize your trials, Anakin.' You snap your head back up to see Qui-Gon right in front of you, though you did not hear his feet cross the distance. 'With each trial, you will be judged for the balance within you. If you pass, you will ascend beyond this plane and achieve your true position within the net of the Force.' 

'And if I fail?' The words spill out before you can catch them. Already, you feel your impulsiveness of old seeping in. You are not sure if it's a good sign. 

'Then you will roam these plains forever. Alone.' 

And on that cheerful note, your trial to prove yourself begins. 

-

As you walk beside the tall Jedi, the endless plains surrounding you begin to morph and change. 

The grassy fields recede, replaced by brown marble and pillars. The Coruscant sky outside, visible through the open corridors, is blue and sunny. Whispers and snippets of conversation echo in the halls that appear, as various life forms in brown cloaks and white robes stride by in pairs and groups. Some of them greet Qui-Gon, who acknowledges them politely in return. You, however, seem invisible to them. 

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant, you realize with growing horror. You relive familiar hallways and structures as you press forward together with Qui-Gon, swarmed by memories of running through the Temple as a Padawan, and... 

You remember sacking the Temple as a fallen Knight, remember the turn away from the main structure that led to the younglings' quarters... A thudding rhythm begins building in your ears, but your gaze is stuck in tunnel vision as you continue down the straying path, just like so many years before. 

When the first sounds of screaming and fighting ring out in the air, you realize that you have begun to run. Beside you, Qui-Gon has drawn and engaged his lightsaber, keeping pace with you easily in long strides. 

The first wave of enemies comes crashing into you without warning.

A man wielding a large axe appears three feet away and charges at you. Instinctively, you reach for your lightsaber - only to find your waistband empty. Cursing, you brace yourself to duck at the last minute - 

-Only for him to charge right through you. An agonized cry explodes behind you, and you turn, still running, to see a Jedi cut down brutally by your assailant. Similar exclamations ring out around you as you tear down the corridor, a dizzying cacophony that sets your head whirling. 

Reaching out for the Force, you find the same impenetrable barrier blocking your access to its power. 

You are no stranger to violence, but your premonitions are building towards a conclusion that sets a pounding in your head and heart. 

No... To live through this again, as a weaponless bystander this time... Will be no less unbearable than taking up the kinslaying blade in your hands once more. 

Beside you, Qui-Gon wields his lightsaber in a whistling arc, slicing through parries and blows like sandpaper. In his path, enemies in sinisterly familiar robes fall like soulless puppets - which is perhaps just what they are (perhaps just what you were.)

Decades of experience have taught you the value of keeping a calm centre during the sporadic, unpredictable violence of a melee. But now, frustrated by your inability to act and a growing, impending sense of doom, you find yourself quickly losing your cool. 

You watch as the Jedi and their foes clash and part in the rhythm of war, all around you, a straining, tragic dance of death. The smells of blood and burnt flesh, the sounds of broken beings and death cries permeate the air, meshing together to form a hell of carnage and loss. 

A living hell, its horrors amplified and magnified to such monstrous proportions that even you, a seasoned warrior, can feel bile in your throat. 

For decades now, Darth Vader's suit had been an armor for your heart as well as your body. A Sith should know no fear, feel no pity. And so you did not. You became a machine - no, you chose to make yourself a machine, as much as your condition ensured it, and shut yourself away from humanity. 

For perhaps the first time in decades, the thought occurs to you that you _did_ have your choices. 

And now, without the suit, without even an identity you can be sure of, you are stripped naked, vulnerable to horrors of war raging all around you. 

Or perhaps, you only emphasize so keenly because you know this scenario all too well. 

You begin to see familiar features in the contorted faces of the fallen. There, lying with half his torso hanging over the edge of the corridor, is a Jedi with Mace Windu's stern brows and mouth. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you see the severed stump of his wrist. 

_You remember the first act that propelled you into the Dark. When the blade of your lightsaber came down against Master Windu's wrist, you had known it was as much your guillotine as it was his. How much of it stemmed from your hatred of the Jedi, and how much from Palpatine's manipulations?_

It had all happened so quickly. In the span of seconds, you fell from Jedi Knight to Sith apprentice, two extreme identities which should never be exchanged in one being. 

But a _choice_ \- did you never have a choice? 

The thought haunts you, as you move on legs that no longer seem to obey you in speed or action. Your bare feet scrape against the floor, but the discomfort barely registers. 

You watch as the bright blue sky hanging over the Temple dyes itself a weeping blood red, and everything within seems to drown in the same color.

Finally, right when you think the horror and regret raging within you is about to drive you mad, Qui-Gon halts. Shaking yourself out of your mangled thoughts, you find that the terrible sounds of fighting have retreated, left behind in corridors branched away. 

Then you focus on what lies in your path, and your blood turns into ice. 

A set of automatic doors blocks your way, but it is not the obstacle they pose that staggers you. No, this wing of the Temple, while not a place you have lingered in, is familiar to you for one reason alone. In fact, you are confident that if you are meant to still be Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight in this illusion, your clearance will grant you entry. 

So this is it, then. This is the test Yoda promised. 

You do not hesitate, or allow yourself to look back. You are the Chosen One, and you could never run from your fate. 

You step forward to the task, and the doors part before you. 

Not wanting to waste a minute, you make to stride forward - but the sound of a lightsaber being activated behind you halts you. 

You turn, wary - you have given the Jedi no reason to be more trustworthy than they were decades before, after all. 

But Qui-Gon only swings the blade around in a fluid motion that might have cost the limbs of a less practiced Master. The tall Jedi presses the handle of his lightsaber into your hand, gives you a small smile, and steps back. 

'You'll need it. Good luck, Anakin. _Now go!_ '

You don't need to be told twice. 

Another set of insulating doors stand in your way, but they do not completely block out the sounds coming from within. Children's voices falter as a woman's impassioned cry cuts through the air. Immediately, your pulse spikes with urgency. Hurry, hurry, hurry, the frantic mantra beats, inside your head. 

You kick the doors open and leap into action - 

-Only to freeze when the sight within greets you. 

Inside, Jedi younglings slowly back away from a figure facing away from you. The look of bewildered betrayal on their innocent young faces pierces you like a blade. Out of the blue, your head begins to pound. You feel... No, you remember. 

Your part in Windu's death was only your tottering first steps. The Jedi must not be allowed to resurrect... When you stormed the Temple, and stopped outside those very doors... You'd already made your decision. 

'I've already made my decision,' the woman's voice repeats monotonously, as if trying to convince herself of a fact. 

That voice... You know it. Once, you knew it very well indeed... 

_No. It cannot be._ Why would she be here - she wasn't -

With growing dread in your heart, you turn your attention to the figure -

\- and feel it sink like a stone into the ocean. 

Then, together with the signature sound of it being ignited, a red lightsaber flickers into view. Out of the corner of your eye, you hear the younglings shriek and scramble in an attempt to escape, even as you leap into action, screaming, 'no!' 

Your unrestrained exclamation gives your target the benefit of foresight, but your seniority in both age and experience allow you to succeed in knocking the lightsaber out of her grasp with your own. 

Disarmed but far from defeated, your opponent spins around as she jumps back, intending to maintain the distance between you. But as her flaring eyes fix on you, her face falls slack with shock. ' _Master_!?' 

For standing in your place, about to stray from the path as you did, is Ahsoka Tano, your first and last Jedi apprentice. 

'Snips.' The name comes to your lips tasting like a memory you did not know you remembered; both bitter and sweet. 'No. This isn't you. You have to listen to me -' 

At your words, Ahsoka's expression darkens, her confusion swiftly replaced by anger. 

'Why are you here, _Master_?' She spits out, blue eyes darting as you circle one another, wary Master and angry Padawan. It is a situation you are all too familiar with. 'No - it doesn't matter anymore. You can't control me any longer, Skywalker. And if you're not with me - if you're here on the orders of the Jedi - then you're _against_ me.' 

The familiar tone and words echo in your mind as you stare at the woman before you, struggling to control your spiraling emotions. 

How can you reach her - how can you tell her that she is wrong, that the Dark Side will only destroy everything she loves, and that she is set on its path, a path with no return? 

'The children.' You plead. You are not so proud now as you were, to lower your head and beg an apprentice to see sense. 'They are only defenseless younglings. This isn't - this _cannot_ be what you want.'

A quick glance assures you that the younglings have safely fled in the confusion, leaving you and Ahsoka alone (or had they simply disappeared, with their role in the illusion fulfilled?)

For a moment she hesitates, and you see your Padawan's conscience swimming in her conflicted eyes. 

But then her expression hardens. 'They were Jedi younglings. They know too much. Nothing of the Jedi can be allowed to remain and fester.' As you watch, the blue of her eyes slides into a sickly familiar yellow. 'Enough of talking. This ends now!' 

That's all the warning you get before she slides at you, intending to sweep your knees out from under you, but it is warning enough. 

Preempting her strike, you jump and put your weight into tackling your opponent from above, lightsaber carefully aimed away. For all the threat Ahsoka likely poses to the galaxy right now, you cannot bear to deal her a fatal blow just yet. 

You have to try - you have to try to bring her back to the Light - Even with all she tried to do - You taught her after all, surely you can guide her again - 

But you have forgotten that she learnt her tricks from you, and the Togruta is more agile than you remember. You have underestimated her, and intelligent as she is, Ahsoka knows to use your mistake against you. 

Lithe but deceptively strong arms catch and turn you around midair with your own momentum, until you land heavily on the ground with a thud. Using her weight, she pins you down and reaches for the lightsaber still clutched in your fist. 

In a split-second decision, you disable Qui-Gon's blade and fling it away before Ahsoka can take it from you. Better to face her barehanded, than to give her the opportunity to do things you will regret. 

The Togruta's eyes dart to track the trajectory of the discarded blade, before snapping back to you. 'Don't think I cannot match you unarmed, Master.' Even as she speaks the words, you feel the sharp press of her mind against yours, the Force under her manipulations a sword-thrust penetrating your defenses. 

Instinctively, your mental shields shoot up, deflecting her attack. Crouched above you, Ahsoka's eyebrows furrow in concentration as she attempts to find a weakness in your guard. 

To your alarm, her probings dig deeper than you expect - no easy feat, with the strength of the Force you have learnt to harness in your years on the Dark Side. The Jedi can say what they wish on the matter - but for all the darkness, the Sith are no less powerful than they. 

In the past decades, you have spent countless hours practicing drawing on the Force with techniques combining Light and Dark, with a depth of understanding you suspect no Force user before you has ever reached. 

And you have grown strong from these experimentations, stronger than any opponent you faced as Darth Vader - stronger perhaps than even your Masters. (Though now you are not so sure. One you caught unawares, and the other... Perhaps you never truly understood his heart after all.) 

A mere Jedi Padawan, even one as talented as Ahsoka Tano, should not be able penetrate your defenses so easily. 

But then, the Force has hardly been a pliant weapon in your hands since your arrival in this place. 

Eager to end this before more complications arise, you reach out to enmesh Ahsoka's Force signature with your own - only to find yourself blocked once again. 

No. You have lived with knowledge and power over the Force for over decades, and its source has never been closed to you like this. Even in your Jedi years, when inhibitors enforced by a stronger Force user had blocked you from accessing its power, you could feel its pull calling out to you. 

The Force never begrudged its Chosen One anything. 

And yet... Now, you can sense the Force rejecting you, its seamless stream curving and sliding away from your mind's reach. 

Frustrated and more than a little alarmed, you resort to physical means instead to dislodge your opponent. 

Clearly having expected a mental assault, Ahsoka grunts in surprise when you succeed in flipping your positions until you are holding her down. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know your momentary advantage will be lost soon - while you might have caught your opponent off-guard, her access to the Force gives her significant leverage over you. 

A leverage that she - if your memory serves, and it has not often failed you when it counted - will not waste. 

'Snips...' you trail off, grasping for the right words. 'It doesn't have to be this way. No matter who - no matter what they've promised you - the Dark cannot fulfill it.' 

Ahsoka bucks against your restraining weight, to no avail. Barring her teeth, she counters, 'What do you know of the Force, Skywalker? You manipulate and bend it to your will, but what do you truly know of its nature? Who are you, Master, to tell me one side of it is better than the other?' 

'I - Because I am the Chosen One.' The words tie your tongue into knots. Are you really - have you ever really been? 

Who _are_ you, really? Can you really have been Darth Vader, the Dark terror of the galaxy? - you, who are desperately trying to preserve the Light in a disciple you have not thought of in decades?

Beneath you, Ahsoka laughs. It is a bitter sound. 'And so you take, and you take. But what have you ever given the Force?' 

'You know _nothing_ , Master. And now, I'm going to destroy you.' 

Suddenly, your vision blurs. In your mind, you see scenes from your past - the times when you sent ripples with the aid you provided in your Jedi missions through the Force, and the times your actions sent pulses of darkness into its web. 

You see the things the Force gave you - your gift for it, your mother's rich love when you were poor in all else, the Jedi's acceptance, Padmé's love. (And Obi-Wan.)

You see the things the Force took from you - your freedom, your mother's life too soon, your limbs. (And Obi-Wan.)

You see the beginnings and endings of the phases of your life - the sands of Tatooine and meeting Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Temple and its annihilation, Mustafar and dying in Luke's arms. 

The visions swarm and overwhelm you in succession. The Force whispers, in its immortal, soundless voice - 

_Do you understand, Anakin Skywalker?_

The Force gives and takes. That is its balance.

And so must you, if you want to connect to its power ever again. 

The first tingling of a Force push knocks you out of your reverie. This time, instead of trying to bind it to your will, you focus on trapping and releasing it back into the Force. 

It is not a difficult maneuver; you remember it being one of the earliest lessons you learnt as a Padawan - redirecting is usually easier than projecting. But in your later years, you grew confident of your stamina and skill in drawing on the Force directly, and rarely utilized the technique of redirecting anymore. 

Now, even as the pulse from Ahsoka's attack leaves your control, you feel an avenue of the Force reopened to you. 

Without conscious thought, instincts hard-honed from years of combat take over. Qui-Gon's discarded lightsaber flies into your hand, the grip of its handle a comforting, familiar sensation. 

What happens next is a blur of intuition and actions. The blade activates, and swings into motion. The smell of cauterized flesh fills the air. When you blink, the mist before your eyes clears, and you discover they were tears. 

Tears that land on your former apprentice's body, right above where your lightsaber pierced her skin. 

Where you nailed her to the ground with your lightsaber. 

Ahsoka raises her head with effort. Her eyes, once blue like the ocean, are tinged red around yellow irises. ' _I hate you_ ,' she says, through gritted teeth. Her voice is soft - already, the strength is leaving her - but her words are a vicious poison, despairing and wronged. 

The words, so familiar and near forgotten, pierce you to the heart. _You remember..._

_You remember red and burning agony branding your heart and soul. You remember a harrowing hatred, of always having to look up to him, of him for not standing beside you, of him for turning his back on you..._

Give, and take. Now you have experienced both sides of the Force. 

You cannot reply. There is something stuck in your throat, a lump of emotion that you cannot swallow. The light in Ahsoka's eyes fade, along with any hope of her redemption in life. Still, you cannot speak. Now, you are beginning to understand why Obi-Wan left you to burn alone.

_Oh, Ahsoka. (Oh, Obiwan.)_

Ahsoka's body is growing cold. With your head bent over her, you close your eyes and grieve, for Masters and Padawans grown distant and turned against each other. 

In those moments, you understand more about the Jedi Way than you ever have. And though you will never be able to agree with what they did to you, you now appreciate what they did for you better. 

And with this knowledge, you feel a great weight lifted from your shoulders. 

You created the burden of hatred to assuage your inability to change what the Jedi made you. And now you relinquish its weight with the admission that your actions have more than equaled the scale between you. 

Around your shoulders, the Jedi robe no longer feels as heavy as it did.

-

Outside the doors, Qui-Gon is waiting for you. 

Seeing his hale appearance as in life and his solemn, knowing smile, a stabilizing calm settles over the hollowing sense of loss that followed you out of the younglings' quarters. 

Only now that you have stepped out of the room do you remember the tests Yoda told you of, and where you are. This is not the realm of the living, nor the material world; Ahsoka and the younglings have to be a test. 

Gazing down, you find that the emblem on the far left, furthest from your heart, has turned from wisps of darkness into pure light. 

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. Then it was all a test after all; you did not really kill Ahsoka (though it may always feel like it, and in someways maybe you did) and she did not really turn against the Light. 

But you did. (But Obi-Wan did, and you do not know how you can ever hope for him to forgive you.)

You hold out the lightsaber hilt first. Accepting it with a satisfied nod, Qui-Gon fastens it to his belt. As he does so, you notice emblems similar to your own sown into the Jedi Master's robes. Three of them shine with light, but a single piece remains tinged with darkness. 

The question, long lingered in the depths of your subconscious, surfaces to thought. If this is the realm of the Force, and Qui-Gon truly one with the Force in death, does he really still need a physical weapon to project his will? 

After all, even in life, Qui-Gon was a powerful Jedi Master whose capability in subduing foes with his mind was paralleled only by his skill with a lightsaber. 

You recall Yoda's words - that this is as much a test for him as it is for you. 

The child Qui-Gon first met might have worried over the propriety question. But your experience as Darth Vader has long since razed such reservations to the ground. 

Walking alongside the Jedi, you ask, 'Master, am I your final test?' 

Qui-Gon visibly pauses, one foot lingering just a little too long on the path, before resuming his pace. When he turns to you, it is with a wry smile on his face. 

'You always were an intelligent boy, Anakin.' He graciously admits. Anakin the child might have blushed with pride. You are too busy trying to recall the last time anyone called you a boy to color. 

But I destroyed the Jedi. I killed Obi-Wan. Do all of those things mean nothing to you? When you look at me, do you not remember the Darkness I spread throughout the galaxy? How can you forgive me so easily? 

For you can tell from the first moment of your reunion that Qui-Gon Jinn bears you no ill feelings. Even if his final test is to guide you to redemption, how can he forgive you for the things you cannot yet forgive yourself for? 

You loathed the Jedi for controlling and using you for years. You blamed Obi-Wan for Padmé's death and forsaking you for decades. Even now, you cannot completely reconcile the contradictory emotions you feel and felt so strongly, after Luke brought out the Light in you for the last time. 

You have no answers to these questions, nor the words to voice them. Perhaps you even fear what you might hear in reply. 

So you ask the easiest question. 'Why?'

Eventually, Qui-Gon speaks. 'Well, I could not mentor you in life. I do not regret placing you under Obi-Wan's care and guidance, but perhaps the Force has given me another chance to guide you. After all, the Force works in mysterious ways.' 

He grins, an honest, raw expression of pleasure. You are reminded that Qui-Gon was never the proper, composed and straitlaced Master Obi-Wan usually was. 

Obi-Wan. You cannot count the number of times you have thought of him in the past decades - no, in all the years of your life. In love or in hate, his name has haunted your mind more than any other being. Not because you always prized him first, but because he had a part in most of the important events in your life. 

Still, you have not heard his name spoken with love in a long time; you have made sure of that yourself - that all who loved the Jedi and Obi-Wan Kenobi should die. 

Even Anakin Skywalker had not been spared from this sentence. 

Now, to hear his name spoken with such fond remembrance is like a knife twisting in your heart. 

And suddenly a thought strikes you like lightning: is Obi-Wan here? And immediately, another, more terrifying one - what if Obi-Wan is here, but doesn't want to see you? 

You are not sure which would be worse. 

And now you have to know. 

This is different from the dilemmas you wondered at about your own conflicted emotions; this is a burning, very real question that demands to be answered. 

Throat dry and muscles tense, you ask, 'Have you seen him?' 

Qui-Gon gives you a look that you cannot quite decipher. Sadness, perhaps; but also contented acceptance. 'No, I have not, Anakin.' 

'Why... not?' There is a barely perceptible tremor in your voice. 

'Because I have roamed these plains alone for a very long time.' 

-

As you continue walking, the scenery around you begins to change yet again. 

The brown walls of the Jedi Temple melt away. For a split second you see blue silhouettes of familiar Jedi withdrawing from the illusion and watching you leave, peaceful acceptance in their faces. Just before they, too, disappear from view, you imagine you see Mace Windu grudgingly nod in your direction. 

Then your surroundings are replaced by regal, dreamlike architecture that prod at the edges of your memory. Across the landscape, castles with domineering profiles but nondescript colors dot the sea of greenery. As a breeze blows by, stirring your hair, you close your eyes to enjoy the calming sensation, even as something about it stirs your memory. 

_If I grew up here, I don't think I'd ever leave. You remember a young Anakin Skywalker saying those words._

You walk across the plains on a patterned cement path, its humble grey reminding you that this cannot be Coruscant. In contrast to the Imperial Centre's extravagance, this planet's wealth is hidden in its modest-looking but finely crafted buildings and clear, even atmosphere. 

The path leads to a high tower that looms above you, a solemn structure against the darkening sky. Beyond its threshold, you can vaguely make out an open dome-shaped structure with lancet openings on its sides. Something about the sight strikes you, and suddenly, you know what this place is. 

Naboo, once a key member of the Republic, and a deferential, if not staunch, planet under Empire rule. Homeworld to the Emperor... and her. And this is its capital, Theed, the seat of its political leaders... and home to the planet's revered Funeral Temple. 

_Of course - how could you forget - she lived most of her life here -_

The memories, sweet and bitter, return to you in a gust of wind that seems to usher you beyond the tower. 

You breathe them in, relieving them in your mind with a clarity that you have thought lost to you. Yet all too soon, they are gone, scattered like the fallen leaves that rustle beyond the arch in the wake of the wind. 

If this is a test, you do not think you are ready for it. 

You turn to Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master is looking up at the tower, a far-away look in his eyes. 

Noticing your gaze, he nods towards the top of the tower. 'The Livet Tower. Here lies the Eternal Flame, undying sentinel of passing souls. Or lay,' he wryly corrects. Certainly, no beacon shines from the structure now. 

Distantly, you remember; Qui-Gon was cremated here after his death. Inside the Temple, you watched the Jedi Master's funeral pyre go up in flames beside Obi-Wan. Then, there, your Master promised to make you a Jedi. 

It was only the first of the promises he made to you. But it was the first time you felt a genuine connection with Obi-Wan, beyond seeing him as a rival for Qui-Gon's attentions. 

Now, standing by your Master's Master at the base of the Tower, you wonder where its dimmed sentinel will guide your lost souls to. 

'Is - is _she_ here?' You did not mean to give your thoughts voice, but the question escapes nonetheless. 

Whether he reads from your mind, or merely deduces it, Qui-Gon knows of whom you speak. 

'I do not know,' he admits without shame. 'She was no Jedi, nor was she trained in the Force. But the Force moves in mysterious ways, Anakin, and it has created bigger miracles. You may see her yet.'

The land beyond the threshold seems a different world; a cold emptiness radiates from the hollowed Temple. And though you have not seen another soul in this place, the palpable loneliness you can sense emanating from within floods you with premonition. 

You are not eager to venture alone, but you will if you must. Though, there is another option... 

'Will you go with me?' 

As you watch, the Jedi Master considers the idea. 'This is _your_ test. I cannot undertake it for you, nor make your choices.' He warns.

'Then guide me. Be the mentor you could not be, Master.' 

-

The moment you step beyond the Tower, a blinding light whitens your vision. An incessant buzzing blocks out all other sounds. The sensory deprivation is disconcerting and disorientating, even for a Force-user like you who has reached into many a sentient mind in your lifetime. 

For an indeterminable duration, your world is reduced to white light and noise.

The first thing you hear when the ringing in your ears fades is the sombre tones of a funeral dirge. 

As your vision clears, the sight of a large funeral procession enters your view. The mourners, though all dressed in black in accordance to custom, are clearly members of nobility. Even the plain color cannot hide the expensive cut and design of their attire. You blink in confusion, looking around to ascertain that you are still in the same location. 

Around you, the grounds of the Theed Funeral Temple still stand. But where the Temple you saw was desolated and dark, this Temple stands regal, even as the fading sun casts its first shadows across its hollows. In the distance, the Eternal Flame shines, its fire a blazing sigil against the twilight sky.

Beside you, Qui-Gon smiles at your shocked expression. 'Time is relative here. This might be a scene from the living world, or it might not be; nor it does not have to be the present.' 

Lips shaping a reply, you fall silent when your eyes land on the open casket that is passing by. Surrounded by many mourners as it is, you only catch a glimpse - but a glimpse is enough, to recognize her - 

To recognize the woman whom you loved from childhood - your wife - the mother of your children -

' _Padmé_!' 

Even as the name falls from your lips, you are tearing through the crowd. The exclamations of the mourners - some scandalized, some angered, some sympathetic - fly over your head. Only one thing is on your mind - to reach her, to take her warm hand in yours and - 

But when you finally push your way to the front, and pull her hand from the accessory placed in her clutched hands, it is cold. 

Staring down at the lifeless, still body, a shudder runs through you. It's unnatural; the paling cheeks under artificial blush, the evenness of her colorless mouth, the underlying beginnings of decay beneath the overpowering scent of flowers when you lean in close. 

It's wrong. This is all wrong. Why would the Force send you here for your test, when you are clearly already (always) too late? What do they want - _what are you supposed to do -?_

Loud yelling in your ear jolts you out of your frantic thoughts. You snarl, barely deigning them a glance, as two Gungans grab you by the arms, dragging you away from the casket. 

Instinctively, you reach for the Force to push them away. But it eludes you once again, and though you push and shove with all your might, the combined forces of your captors and the crowd pull you further and further away, until Padmé's casket is a dot on the horizon. 

The Gungans dump you unceremoniously onto the hard ground, a safe distance away from the procession. They growl warnings at you, but you don't listen. You're too busy looking at your shaking hands, remembering Padmé's cold touch, and belatedly discovering that you have brought the item clutched in her hands with you in your daze. 

One of them makes to take it from you, but the other restrains her. Eventually, judging you to be suitably discouraged from disrupting the procession again, they leave with glares in your direction. 

And then you are alone.

Any onlookers - but there are few, the procession mostly focused on mourning their beloved Queen - could not have guessed you as Darth Vader, or even a Jedi warrior. 

Crouched on your knees, the hard ground scraping against you against your leggings, you turn your gaze on the token, all else forgotten. The body in the casket is nothing to you; there is nothing of Padmé Amidala left in that shell. Now, you are only a distraught husband mourning his wife; and like all distraught spouses, you are clinging onto her last token like a drowning man to a straw. 

It is a - no, it is the japor snippet. Turning it over in your hands, your lips are parted in awe, even as memories assail you. You cannot quite believe it is here, even though it is as solid a weight in your palm as it was when you first gave it to her. 

Years ago, when visiting her mausoleum, you wondered about the whereabouts of your first gift to Padmé. And deeming it lost, you mourned the loss of the purest symbol of your love. 

You remember nights spent carving the token, frustration at perceived imperfections, and the nervous pride you felt when finally presenting it to Padmé. She, the Queen of Naboo, who always wore such elaborate dresses and accessories to her meetings, could not have lacked in precious jewels. And yet she always wore your gift with pride around her neck.

Now, you trace the carvings, your heart aching, even as you tremble with rage. Why, why were you sent here, if not to save her? What could be served by this powerless position you are cast in, only to suffer pain from a wound you have been hurting from for decades? 

'Anakin,' a sorrowful voice calls, at your shoulder. Glancing up, you see Qui-Gon standing over you. 

For a second, you see red. 

But the Jedi Master forestalls any rash action you might have made. Pressing a palm over your heart, he gestures towards the emblems on your robe. 'Look,' he instructs calmly.

Despite yourself, the gentle but firm tone compels you to obey. Glancing down, you see that the second of your emblems is festering with darkness, threatening to spread to the single white emblem. 

A creeping suspicion crawls into your mind. 'What... what does this mean?' 

Qui-Gon's tone is solemn. 'Padmé is your test. And you are failing.' 

Frustration boils up in you at the Jedi Master's ambivalent answer. 'I know that, Master. But what am I supposed to - what can I do? She's already gone,' you end softly, suddenly more forlorn than angry. 

Is this what this test is about? For you to stand by and watch as Padmé goes where you cannot follow, again? If so, you do not think you will ever pass. 

In the periphery of your vision, you see Qui-Gon pause. A heavy exhalation reaches your ears, but you resolutely focus your attention on the japor snippet in your hands. Even if you fail and are sentenced to roam these undying lands forever, at least you will have this final token with you. 

And that will have to be enough. 

As if reading your thoughts - and who's to say he didn't? - your companion sighs. ' _Anakin_ ,' he says, in a stern tone reminiscent of a chiding Master. Your heart clenches.

The thought of Obi-Wan - of never seeing him again - drives a wedge into your heart. But Padmé was your wife, and your childhood friend besides. To let her go like this would be an insult to her memory - to your life together once. 

'Anakin. What if I tell you there is another way?' 

That catches your attention. You turn to him, eyes intent and heart tight in your chest. 'Tell me,' you demand, because your pride will not yet allow you to beg - but the light in your eyes is a desperate plea. 

For a minute, the Jedi Master simply fumbles with his robe. Though impatient, you suppress the urge to hurry him along. Antagonizing him now would be a foolish move, you tell yourself. Why are you still pretending that you would be at peace with failure and banishment? your heart argues. 

Then, Qui-Gon moves his hand away, and you see what he has been doing. 

A silver of light, thin as a string, trails from the Jedi's long fingers. Slowly, as if summoning great concentration, he pulls it towards you. 

When he presses his fingers to the dark emblem pinned on your robe, it is more of a stab - as if he is afraid that if he is not swift enough, the light, so painstakingly retrieved, will simply vanish into the air. 

If that were his concern, he need not have worried. The second his fingers make contact, the wisp of light fastens onto your emblem, its bright ray entrapping the darkness within, but not quite replacing it. 

In wonder and bemusement, your eyes look to Qui-Gon's robes - and your smile falls. 

For now, another of Qui-Gon's emblems is stained by a drop of darkness. And you recognize his actions for the sacrifice it was. 

'Master - I -' You remember the deep sorrow in Qui-Gon's eyes when he told you the fate of those who failed their tests. And now, he is risking that fate to give you another chance. 

If you want to claim yourself a better man, you would reject his gift. But you are only an uncertain man - uncertain even of your own name. And an uncertain man, unsure of what he may lose, stands to lose everything with one wrong move. 

(Perhaps if the giver were your disciple, someone under your protection and responsibility - yes, if you were a Master, you would sacrifice yourself for a worthy apprentice - after all, the Rule of Two - ) 

But you are not a Sith anymore, are you?

But maybe a Jedi, too, would sacrifice himself for a Padawan, even an unworthy one, one that has given him much cause for grief. 

'Master,' you repeat. This time, the word carries a different sincerity. Qui-Gon might have never been your official Master in life, but his guidance here has more than earned him that mantle. 

The Jedi Master only smiles. 'Go, Anakin.' 

Where to, you do not ask. In this perfect moment, when you are unburdened by your conflicting loyalties and uncertain identity, you heart and mind are united in one sentiment - trust. 

So you close your eyes, and the world around you changes. 

-

When the buzzing in your ears dies down, it is replaced by an eerie dead silence. 

You open your eyes to a dark space. A faint light shining in the distance is the only source of illumination. 

You have been in enough situations with similar elements that you find yourself reflexively walking towards the light before you even realize it. 

But the moment you take a step, you freeze. 

For ringing out with a loud clack is the unmistakable sound of boots against the floor. 

No - you were barefoot - you remember the sensation of grass tickling your toes, of tiles scraping your soles.

And yet now, the fact that you didn't even realize your change in footwear, can only mean... 

Fearing that you already know the answer, you reach down to feel your legs -

-and at once, a bereaved cry tears from your lips. 

_Gone, gone, gone!_ The organic, human sensation of touch, only just returned - has been taken from you again. 

Barely registering your movements, you race towards the light, eager for absolution - or even just resolution - anything - for your current state is unbearable. 

Meters, miles, leagues... Your tireless mechanical legs take you on and on, until you begin to think the road will never end. 

And all the while, the light before you seems to grow ever further away. 

It is until your breaths start coming in labored pants through the regulator that you encounter an obstacle in your path. 

Your booted feet catch on something that feels like a ledge, and you go sprawling. 

The ground comes up to meet you, hard. Your helmet clunks against the floor, and for a moment you are disorientated. 

When you look up again, the sight before you makes your heart tremor. 

For before you lies a rectangular sarcophagus, crafted from material as pure and dark as its lightless surroundings. On it is carved the emblem of Naboo, a stylized flower, in a cold, forbidding grey. And beyond the coffin, between twin columns crowned by eternally blooming flowers, is a stained glass clerestory bearing the effigy of Padmé Amidala. 

You remember this place. Padmé's mausoleum in Theed, its location a secret from most - but not to you. 

Soft light emanates from the window as you slowly stand and approach it. Even in a crafted image, she is beautiful. From the firm serenity her expression is set in, you remember a hundred lively ways emotions played across her lovely face. And from her regal attire and crown, you remember who she was to others - a beloved Queen. 

Reverentially, you reach out to caress her visage - but as before, your hand stops short of its goal. 

You remember the last time you touched her in life - boiling, irrational rage spilling and choking; you remember the hand you held in yours - cold, lifeless, lost. 

The realization - that even after all these years, you are not a step closer to redeeming yourself for Padmé's death - takes something from you. When you exhale, your shoulders sag; in dejection, but also with a weight lifted. 

Yes, perhaps you will never be forgiven - or forgive - what you did to Padmé. But you are determined not to let this chance that you have been given - that Qui-Gon sacrificed himself to give you - go to waste. 

You will do what you could not, all those years ago. 

Standing before the clerestory, you begin to talk. 

'Padmé.' The name, once so easy and natural on your tongue, tastes like sorrow and a hundred regrets now. 

For a minute, you let the sound of her name hang in the air. All these years, you have turned over in your head exactly what you would say to her if time turned back to grant you your wishes - and now it has, though your wishes have changed. 

Now, you no longer dream of Padmé alive and beside you as Lady Vader, reigning over the Galactic Empire with your beloved children. 

Yes. Luke and Leia, your bright and strong twins. Darth Vader might have robbed them of their parents, but they made their way in the galaxy all the same. Your heart swells with pride, though it tastes bittersweet like all the words you did not have time to say to Luke. 

And suddenly, all those words come rushing back to you. 

'Our children - you would be proud, Padmé. 

Leia - I did her much wrong, and caused her much grief. But the fire in her never went out. Organa raised her well, though he was paid poorly for it - she has grown to be a great leader, so much like you were. Though I fear there is some of me in her, too - may her strong will always lead her to judicious choices, for there will be many in the future of a New Republic leader. I can only imagine what she thinks of me now, and herself. Maybe one day she will find it in her heart to forgive me - but I cannnot hope for it. 

Luke - oh, Padmé. In the beginning I sought to corrupt him, but in the end it was he who made me see the light. There is much of my old yearnings for adventure in him, though I can only hope that all of this has not taken it away from him. And yet there is so much of your infinite capacity for hope in him, so much light and potential. Through him I see the revival of the Jedi Order - a return that would be welcomed by the galaxy after his role in overthrowing the Empire, no doubt, though it will be a heavy responsibility on his shoulders.' 

Having confessed your hopes for the children, you exhale. The rasp of your regulator fills the air. 

Disappointment floods you. You should not have expected anything to come of your speech, but you did. You hoped that your love for your children would be judged true and allow you to pass this test, but maybe it wasn't enough. 

And with a loss of expectations, a shroud of acceptance falls over you. 

Looking up at Padmé's memorial, you are surprised to find yourself at peace. No rage nor despair threatens to drown you in its irrational waves. 

Maybe Qui-Gon was wrong. Maybe you will never truly see Padmé Amidala again. Maybe she really is gone from you, now. And maybe now, finally, you can be okay with that. 

The soft glow of the window casts light shadows across your gloved hand as you place it against Padmé's. 

Closing your eyes, you summon up the most intact and precious memories you have of her, the love of your childhood, your beloved wife and leader, the mother of your children. 

You remember exploring the plains of Naboo whenever you could sneak away from your Master and her handmaidens' well-meaning but stern guardianship. You remember the cool breeze stirring your hair as you lifted her white veil and sealed your secret marriage with a kiss under the Varykino sky. You remember countless stolen moments of private bliss in a turbulent galaxy where your public selves fought for peace. 

'I was so wrong, Padmé, and I'm so sorry.' 

And with that final, whispered confession, you lift the helmet from your head. 

In the darkness, you wait. You remember the pain of exposure in your last moments - but as you had Luke then to tide you through, so do you have Padmé now. You wait, for the Force to take you wherever it will. 

But deliverance does not come. 

Instead, you see a white light approaching from behind your eyelids, so bright that when you finally open your eyes, your vision does not clear immediately. And you feel... you feel - 

Impossible. 

And yet, when your eyes finally readjust to the brightness, you see _her_.

She is standing before you, as young and beautiful as she was before you two parted from the dividing line between life and death. And yet now she is full of life and light,  
looking directly at you, stars dancing in her eyes. And in your hand lies hers, warm as it always was in yours. 

And at her touch, you somehow know, instinctively; that she is healing you, mind and soul. Your breathing no longer comes labored to you, and you feel so much lighter. And the warm feeling of her hand is unmistakable: whatever was taken from you is again returned. 

Yet the euphoria of feeling again is nothing compared to your joy at seeing her.

' _Padmé_.' 

You do not know how you even form her name; your eyes are desperately drinking in her visage, your mouth is open in shock, your mind is screaming in joy over and over, it's her, it's her, it's really her. 

'Hello, Anakin,' she says, her lips curling into the smile she always reserved for you. 

Oh, her _voice_. You had forgotten the sound of her sweet voice; the melody of her laughter and the compelling way she had with words. 

A hundred thoughts vie for utterance in your head, then fall silent all at once. Before Padmé, you need not words to communicate what you feel. As she holds your gaze, an understanding that transcends speech passes between you. Elation and relief flood you in waves.

In a single moment, you exchange all the things you have wanted to convey to each other when you were apart. 

(And if you do not get any more moments to share, then this will have to be enough.)

Yes, this is what you have missed, what you yearned for one last time. 

Wordlessly, you return the japor snippet to Padmé, and are half surprised yourself when she makes physical contact with it. Looking down at it, her expression changes from shock to one of affection. 

'I was wondering where it went,' she smiles. 'But I think it's your turn to guard it for me now.' 

A warm hand comes up to cup your cheek. 'Because I'm not here alone.' 

Behind Padmé, the brilliant white light distinguishes into slowly dimming silhouettes. You see Bail Organa and his wife, foster parents to Leia and leaders of Alderaan; the Duchess Satine, leader of Mandalore; and many others whom had once been your confederates in the war against the Separatists. 

They smile at you, these men and women from your past, their bright eyes conveying a united message: as you accepted your part in our fate, so do we accept your repentance.

Even as your heart surges with emotion, you feel sorrow begin to seep into your exuberant joy. 

For even as you whisper your gratitude, you see their haloes of light diminishing. The realization saddens you with its inevitability, though you no longer wish to fight against it taking its course. 

'Your place is not with us,' Padmé murmurs, soothing but sure. Her light, too, is growing fainter. 'At least not now.'

And as you open your mouth to reply, Padmé Amidala tilts her head up and kisses you. 

Closing your eyes so that you will not see her disappear, you lean into her fading warmth. For one perfect moment, through the Force, your minds are joined as one. 

_You remember the first time you saw her smile. At an age when you thought girls were strange creatures you would never understand, her smile had set your heart beating in a way that both confused and excited you. And you remember how, a decade later, the same smile made your heart swell with what you finally recognized as love._

And in return, Padmé's memories come sweeping into your mind. 

_You see yourself through her eyes, first as a young boy on Naboo whose bravery and fiery will awoke her own steel within her. You feel her pleasant surprise when as a young Padawan, you admitted that you remembered her; and her overwhelmed, conflicted emotions when you confessed your affections. You know her elation as equaling your own when you finally consummate your love together._

'Till we meet again, Anakin Skywalker.' Her voice is a whisper on the wind, whisked away before it can echo.

You hold her promise to your heart, close and tight, and let her go. 

-

When you open your eyes again, you are alone, in the blue glade where you first arrived. 

The sound of feet trudging through the grass behind you snaps you out of your reverie. Reaching out into the Force with ease, you feel Qui-Gon approaching. 

'Master.' You greet. As your eyes scan the front of his robes, you find all four pulsing with light. Your lips tug into a grin, which Qui-Gon mirrors. 'You passed your trials.'

'Well, I've gotta be ahead of my Padawan, haven't I?' The Jedi Master's sharp eyes watch for a reaction, and find none at the term. His smile widens. 'Congratulations, Anakin.' 

Following his gaze, you notice that a second emblem on your robes has changed color. But though one half of the orb now glows with soft light, the other side remains the same shade of obsidian it was. 

Before you can ask what this means, Qui-Gon interrupts your thoughts. 

'Well, Anakin, I can only guide you this far. My time with you is at an end - at least for now.' 

The words reveal nothing you had not guessed - to accept a Master is to one day know the sorrow of losing them to another Padawan, a lesson you learnt long ago. Yet the acceptance you gained from Padmé's trial still flows through you, a calming essence that dispels any negative emotion you might have felt. 

Your guidance has been a great comfort. Master, go in peace, you mean to say. 

But what comes out is - 'Master - I - If you see him - Obi-Wan - again -' 

Your voice catches on his name. Mastered acceptance, I may have - but not the art letting go, it seems, you think, a little sadly. 

Would that you could exchange your eternal longing for a Jedi Master's empathic detachment - but you never did, and never will. It is in your bones, the burning, all-consuming passion for love and humane connection; that the Jedi condemned and the Sith could not feed. 

Yet Qui-Gon seems to understand. A flash of sympathy - maybe even empathy - flickers in his wise eyes, before he replies, 'Never fear; I will convey your goodwill to Obi-Wan. And if you have anything else to say to him - then you must pass your remaining trials to do so yourself.'

Your heart trembles with a terrible hope. 'Thank you, Master Qui-Gon.' 

The Jedi Master's eyes shine with unconcealed mirth and boundless pride. 

'Remember, Anakin. To falter and fall alone makes a fool not; for the wise learn and grow from their mistakes, big or small. There is more capacity for hope, and wisdom, in you than you yet know.'

As he speaks, his blue-tinged frame grows ever fainter, until he is almost invisible.

'Goodbye, Anakin, but this is not farewell. We will be waiting for you.' 

And with those final words, Qui-Gon Jinn fades out of sight. 

Then you are alone, once more. 

Looking around you in the empty glade, you reminisce on the events that have transpired since your arrival. You have lost and gained, despaired and hoped, failed and passed. 

And throughout your trials, you have kept your mission in mind: to pass the trials, and ascend from this realm of the Force. And then, you might see your old friends again (then, you might see Obi-Wan again.)

You will persevere on on this path, to whatever end the Force may lead (to the end you seek to create.)

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I hope you enjoyed this fic from a filthy casual who has literally only ever watched TFA and Rogue One I hope I was true to their canon characterizations (or at least the fanon ones...)~~


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